^^  PRINCETON.  N.  J.  ^ 


Library  of  Dr.  A.  A.  Hodge.      Presented. 


Division. 
Section,,,, 
Niwiber 


.,.8..3...45... 


THE 


DESERT    PATHWAY 


BY   THE  / 

KEY.  WILLIAM  KOBERTSON, 

OF   HAMILTO>J,    SCOTLAND, 


"  And  He  led  them  forth  by  the  right  -vray,  that  they  mi^ht  go  to  a  city  of 
habitation.*' — Psalm  cvii,  T. 

"  Now  all  these  things  happened  unto  them  for  ensamples ;  and  they  are 
■written  for  our  admonition,  upon  -whom  the  ends  of  the  world  are  come." — 
1  Cos.  X,  11. 


NEW   YORK: 
R0i3ERT   CARTER  &  BROTPIERS, 

530     BROADWAY, 

18  6  3. 


6TKKE0TYPKD    BY  PRINTED    BY 

Smith    &    McDocGAL.  E.   O.   Jknkinb, 

82  «fc  S4  Beekui.in-st  X)  North  ■William-st. 


DEDICATORY. 


This  book  pretends  to  naught  but  a  few  simple 
thoughts  written  down  in  an  interval  of  retirement, 
during  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  withdraw  the 
writer  into  a  path  of  silence  and  trial.  In  such  a 
time  I  have  been  led,  perhaps  naturally,  to  seek  to 
glean  somewhat  among  the  abundant  lessons  and 
consolations  in  the  great  desert-track  of  God's 
chosen  people.  It  is  a  story  whose  interest  never 
waxes  old.  For,  at  the  outset  of  their  pilgrimage, 
the  Israelites  found  the  wilderness  a  void  :  by  their 
passage  through  it,  they  made  it  the  wondrous  path- 
way of  God  forever.  And  so,  spiritually,  each  one 
in  all  the  pilgrim  multitudes  He  has  been  leading 
since  has  but  trodden  in  their  steps.  If,  therefore, 
in  the  following  pages,  while  my  quest^has  been  one, 
I  trust,  not  unfruitful  to  myself,  I  have,  at  the  same 
time,  gathered  up  aught  that  may  contain  help  and 
profit  to  those  especially  who,  taking  up  their  cross 
daily,  are,  in  the  desert-way,  following  their  Lord,  I 
shall  feel  I  have  not  missed  my  aim.     May  I  also 


IV  PREFACE. 

add,  that,  in  thus  sending  my  book  forth,  it  will 
help  me  to  realize  the  grateful  thought,  that,  in 
particular  amongst  the  flock  to  whom  I  am  united 
by  very  dear  and  very  solemn  bonds,  my  ministry  is 
not  altogether  without  a  voice  ? 

So  I  commit  the  volume  to  Him  whom  I  fain 
would  glorify,  whether  in  weakness  or  in  strength. 
And,  in  its  publication,  I  dedicate  it  to  one  who  by 
her  true  companionship  has  lightened  for  me  the 
withdrawn  way  wherein  I  have  been  constrained  to 
go,  and  in  the  example  of  her  own  faith  and  pa- 
tience has  also  taught  me,  better  than  I  knew,  the 
reality  of  many  of  those  things  which  I  have  written. 

Manse  of  Hamilton, 
January,  1863. 


*^*  In  my  impressions  of  what  may  be  called  the  scenery  of  the 
Desert,  I  have  derived  much  of  their  coloring  from  the  well-known 
book,  "  Sinai  and  Palestine," — by  that  most  accomplished  and  elo- 
quent of  English  travellers.  Professor  A.  P.  Stanley. 


(Rj&Ut^Ut$ 


PAGB 

I. — Speaking  to  the  Heart ^ 

11. — The  Pilgrim  Meal 16 

III.—"  Under  the  Cloud" 26 

lY. — "Through  the  Sea" 38 

v.— 'The  Song  of  Moses 55 

VI. — The  Bitter  made  Sweet 68 

VII.— The  Palms  and  Springs  of  Elim "TT 

VIII. — Food  from  Heaven 85 

IX. — The  Smitten  Rock » 100 

X.— On  the  Hill,  and  in  the  Plain 113 

XL — Division  of  Labor. 12*? 

XII. — The  Inaccessible  Glory 139 

XIII.—"  The  Voice  of  Words" 152 

XIV.— The  Similitude  of  God 164 

XV.— The  Pattern  in  the  Mount 1'79 

XVI.— The  Molten  Calf 1^^ 

XVIL— Within  the  Clift 211 

XYIIL— The  Veiled  Face •  •  •  • 223 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

XIX. — The  Sin  of  Str.4noe  Fire 245 

XX— The  Graves  op  Lust 261 

XXI. — Miriam's  Humiliation 279 

XXIL— Seen  but  Lost 291 

XXIIL — Between  the  Dead  and  the  Living 313 

XXIY. — Thirty-seven  Years'  Silence 327 

XXY.— The  Unadvised  Lips 336 

XXVL— The  Mountain  Bier 344 

XXVIL— The  Brazen  Serpent 358 

XXVIII. — Israel's  Keeper 369 

XXIX. — Death  at  tHE  Threshold 380 

XXX.— Fording  the  Dark  "Waters 393 


I. 

"I  will  allure  her,  and  bring  her  into  the  wilderness,  and  speak 
comfortably  to  her."— Hos.  li.  14. 

It  is  a  well-known  thought  that,  if  a  man 
had  disclosed  to   him   his   future  of  a   few 
weeks   or   years   forward,   he   could  not,  in 
many  cases,  look  into  it  and  live.     The  dis^ 
asters   of    the   path- sickness,   bereavement, 
loss  of  means,    sudden    death  of  himself  in 
the  midst  of  hopes  and  manhood,— these  and 
such    like    discoveries,    into   which   his   feet 
advance,  would  utterly  overwhelm  him,  and 
bring  the  prayer  to  his  lips,  "  0  God !  spare 
me    that   way    of   the   wilderness    and    the 
flood!"     And  yet,   strangely,   it   is   not  less 
true  that,  after   a   man  has  passed  through 
some  space  of  such  a  desert  path,  encoun- 
tered manifold  trials,  like  his  blessed  Master 
has   been    ''  stricken,    smitten   of    God,    and 


8  SPEAKING    TO    THE    HEART. 

afflicted,''  he  not  only  comes  to  endure  the 
hardness  patiently  and  well,  but  looking 
back  from  point  to  point  as  he  goes  on,  and 
specially,  from  the  last  height  of  all,  when,  in 
his  soul,  patience  has  had  its  perfect  work, 
he  sees  the  way  he'  could  not  in  prospect 
have  borne,  in  retrospect  a  very  path  of 
light;  goodness  and  mercy  marking  it  with 
their  golden  footprints,  and  such  blessing- 
gathered  from  it  as  he  never  could  have 
reaped  had  his  path  been  that  of  mere  earthly 
sunniness  and  peace.  He  therefore  thanks 
God  fervently  at  last,  for  the  thing  that  would 
have  scared  him,  had  God  beforehand,  like 
the  prophet's  scroll,  unloosed  the  tale. 

Moses  was  an  eminent  illustration  of  what 
I  say.  How  could  he  have  stood  the  sight 
of  the  one  hundredth  part  of  those  trials  and 
sorrows  which  darkened  his  leadership  of 
Israel  through  the  desert — the  forty  years 
long  of  the  fire  and  burden  of  a  whole  nation 
borne  on  his  heart — the  miseries,  and  failures, 
and  deaths,  that  strewed  the  awful  line  of 
march !    Had  that  future,  even  in  a  few  of  its 


SPEAKING    TO    THE    HEART.  9 

scenes,  been  unveiled  to  him,  his  heart  would 
have  died  within  him.  But  God  led  him  on, 
so  to  speak,  blindfold,  till,  from  height  to 
height,  he  began  to  realize  in  his  courageous 
soul  the  high  argument  whereby  the  Mighty 
One  was  dealing  with  him  ;  and,  on  the 
crowning  ridge  of  Pisgah,  in  the  end,  not 
only  do  we  conceive  of  Moses  as  casting  his 
gaze  forward  into  the  Canaan  he  was  not  to 
enter,  but  equally  as  looking  back  upon  the 
windings  of  the  far  desert  road  he  and  the 
hosts  he  led  had  come,  beholding  the  track, 
that,  at  his  start  from  Egypt,  would  have 
seemed  so  dark  and  terrible,  literally  shining 
and  blessed  with  the  footsteps  of  God.  Trav- 
ellers tell  us  there  is  a  faint  shado^7  of  this 
spiritual  reality  in  nature,  when,  on  their 
climbing  upward  the  steep  mountain  path, 
they  find  the  way  rough,  and  frowning,  and 
perilous ;  but,  when  again  they  look  back  on 
it  from  the  plain,  they  see  it  wind  in  and  out 
among  the  cliffs  like  a  thread  of  silver.  So 
Moses,  on  Pisgah,  got  the  clue  of  silver  in 
his  hand,  and  ran  the  eye  back  with  amaze- 


10  SPEAKING    TO    THE    HEART. 

ment  along  its  beauteous  stream.  Could  God 
otherwise  have  spoken,  or  done,  or  blessed, 
as  He  had  in  that  Desert  Pathway  ?  Were 
its  lessons  not  more  strange  and  precious 
even  than  the  rest  of  the  promised  land, 
immediately  after  the  Red  Sea,  would  have 
l)een  ?  Did  tlie  man  of  God  not  give  thanks 
now, — did  he  not  rejoice  in  all  his  tribula- 
tion,— did  he  not  extol  God's  way  as  the 
"right  way," — and  did  he  not, like  Simeon  in 
ages  after,  breathe  out  the  contentment  both 
of  his  life  and  his  death,  and  say,  ''Lord,  now 
lettest  Thou  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace,  for 
mine  eyes  have  seen  Thy  salvation  ?" 

Now,  it  is  quite  plain,  my  reader,  if  you 
once  admit  the  thought  of  this,  the  manner 
of  God's  dealing, — it  becomes  quite  plain 
why  lie  not  only  leads  but  "allures"  His 
people  into  the  wilderness.  It  is  that  He 
may  speak  comfortably  to  them,  or  rather — 
for  that  is  the  literal  reading — "  speak  on 
their  heart''  It  is  that,  isolating  them  in 
silence  and  solitariness.  He  may  drop  His 
deepest  and  tenderest  voice,  slowly  and  for- 


SPEAKING   TO    THE    HEART.  H 

ever,  07i  their  heart  For  it  needs  one  to  be 
drawn  into  the  cold,  hard,  and  hidden  rock, 
ere  he  can  find  the  sweetest  of  the  honey  ;  it 
needs  one  to  be  drawn  into  the  wiklerness,  and 
to  be  alone  and  in  its  silence,  ere  he  can  hear 
the  sweet  thrilling  whisjiers  of  his  blessed 
Lord  spoken  in  the  ear  of  his  soul.  That 
was  signally  the  case  with  Israel,  when  God 
allured  them,  and  brought  them  out  of  Egypt. 
In  the  grossness  and  weariness  of  their  bond- 
age, in  the  din  of  Egyptian  cities,  in  the 
blind  swarm  with  which  they  hurried  every 
day,  absorbed,  to  do  their  task,  then  to  eat, 
drink,  and  again  to  lay  themselves  down  to 
sleep,  had  God  come  to  them  with  His  mes- 
sage there,  they  could  have  heard,  it  is  true, 
but  never  understood, — they  might  have 
gazed  up  with  dull  eye,  but  only  to  drop  to 
their  material  life  again.  And  had  they  been 
transferred  at  a  single  step,  so  to  speak,  into 
the  good  land, — slaves  of  Egypt  to-day,  con- 
querors of  Canaan  to-morrow, — the  sudden 
leap  into  such  a  change  of  life  would  have  so 
besotted  them   with  luxury  and  pride  that. 


12  SPEAKING    TO    THE    HEART. 

had  God  spoken  to  them  there  again,  His 
accents  would  have  been  drowned.  But  the 
intermediate  desert  journey  met  God's  great 
condition.  He  held  them  there,  surrounded 
with  awfulness,  and  so  utterly  dependent  on 
Him,  that  He  could  draw  near  and  speak  to 
their  heart ;  He  could  wean  them  into  spirit- 
ual understanding ;  He  could  touch  chords 
within  them  that  never  else  would  have 
vibrated;  He  could  speak  to  them  "Alone 
with  them  alone."  And  was  it  not  so  in  all 
the  olden  time,  vfhen  God  was  wont  to  throw 
His  shadow  palpably  on  human  paths, — with 
Noah,  Abraham,  Isaac,  Jacob,  Moses,  Samuel, 
David,  and  all  the  prophets  ?  His  chosen 
spots  were  in  desert  silence.  He  allured  them 
apart,  that  there,  the  veil  being  rent.  He 
might  speak  to  them  heart  to  heart.  Was  it 
not  so  in  the  touching  appeal  of  Jesus  once, 
when,  with  all  the  coming  and  going.  His  dis- 
ciples were  distracted,  and  He  said,  "  Come 
ye  yourselves  apart  into  this  desert  place,  and 
rest  a  while '?"  as  if,  in  that  quiet,  they  would 
feel  dropped  into  their  souls  His  deep  words, 


SPEAKING    TO    THE    HEART.  13 

as  the  silvery  pebble  is  seen  dropping  to  the 
depth,  not  of  the  disturbed,  but  the  clear 
and  silent  pool.  ILij  it  not  been  so  with  the 
Church  of  Christ  in  her  noblest  seasons,  when 
she  has  put  fortli  her  most  heavenl}-  virtues — ■ 
in  persecution  or  peril  ?  She  has  been  made 
to  "  forget  her  own  people  and  her  father's 
house ;"  she  has  been  allured,  that  is,  and 
brought  into  the  wilderness;  and  so  ''her 
Lord  has  greatly  desired  her  beauty."  He 
has  spoken  in  the  thrill  of  His  love  to  her 
heart.  Is  it  not  so  with  each  Christian  life 
now,  whom  God  tempers  in  His  fiery  way  ? 
The  stir  and  noises  of  the  world  hinder  us,  so 
that  in  the  manifold  sound  of  outer  things, 
when  all  is  well,  we  lose  the  hearing  of  the 
heavenly  voice  altogether  ;  but  God  merci- 
fully withdraws  us  where  we  must  hear, — 
through  death,  sorrow,  suffering.  He  makes 
solitude  about  the  soul ;  lover  and  friend  He 
puts  far  from  us  into  darkness  ;  He  makes  us 
feel  alone ;  and  then,  in  that  awful  condition, 
when  there  is  silence,  and  the  way  is  dark, 
and   the  burden   of  the  solitary  life  is  very 


14  SPEAKING    TO    THE    HEART. 

heavy,  He  draws  nigh,  He  stoops  down  close 
upon  us,  as  if  coals  of  fire  were  on  His  lips, 
He  speaks  to  the  very  heart.  "  Did  not  our 
hearts  burn  within  us,"  cried  one  of  the  dis- 
ciples, after  they  had  journeyed  with  the 
unknown  Lord  to  Emmaus;  "did  not  our 
hearts  burn  within  us,  as  He  talked  with  us 
in  the  way  ?"  So  the  hearts  burn  whom  God 
leads  apart  and  speaks  to  in  the  desert  road. 
They  awake  to  God  as  never  otherwise  they 
could  have  done.  They  exclaim,  as  Jacob 
did,  "  Surely  the  Lord  is  in  this  place,  and  I 
knew  it  not."  And  again,  the  desert  awful- 
ness  and  beauty  breaking  on  them,  as  on  him, 
"How  dreadful  is  this  place!  This  is  none 
other  but  the  house  of  God,  and  this  is  the 
gate  of  heaven!" 

I  mean,  then,  in  the  chapters  following,  to 
retrace  some  of  the  memorable  footprints 
made  in  the  old  Desert  Pathway  along  which 
God  led  His  people  Israel  by  the  hands  of 
Moses  and  Aaron, — to  sec  how,  in  each,  there 
stands  up  some  symbol  of  His  dealing  with 
the  great  multitude  He   has   led   spiritually 


SPEAKING    TO    THE    HEART.  15 

through  the  wilderness  since, — to  note  how 
these  lessons  gleam  back  on  us,  full  of  fresh 
and  solemn  application  yet, — and  to  gather 
this,  above  all,  that,  if  we  are  being  "led  of 
the  Spirit  into  the  wilderness,"  we  have  at 
each  step  the  Saviour  voice,  "  Fear  not,  I  am 
with  thee  :  be  not  dismayed,  I  am  thy  God." 
I  trust  to  exhibit  to  the  fainting  pilgrim  some 
discoveries  of  the  grace  of  God  reserved  for 
him  alone, — to  cheer  him  with  new  light 
streaming  down  to  us  from  that  old,  old 
story, — and  to  show  him,  as  we  travel  in  the 
ruins  of  the  past,  that  "  the  wilderness  and 
the  solitary  place  is  glad — that  the  desert 
does  rejoice,  and  blossom  as  the  rose." 


11. 
mxt  gi(0vim  Pal 

This  famous  meal,  known  by  the  name  of 
the  Passover,  was  ate,  as  a  solemn  pledge,  at 
the  very  threshold  of  the  Israelites'  escape. 
The  whole  population  was  gathered  to  the 
banquet;  and,  as  the  preparations  for  flight 
were  complete,  and  the  memorable  night 
wore  on,  you  can  conceive  what  a  picture 
each  slave  hut,  in  its  silent  interior,  dis- 
closed.— the  table  spread,  the  lamb  slain  and 
roasted  with  fire,  the  blood  sprinkled  on  the 
door-posts,  the  inmates  standing  up  in  eager 
circle,  equipped  for  instant  journey,  and,  as 
the  light  fell  on  their  swart  faces,  their  awe 
of  an  unseen  Presence,  their  listening  for 
a  dread  signal,  and  an  occasional  whisper 
through  the  group,  marking  the  deep-hushed 
scene.  No  one  there,  I  believe,  felt  doubtful 
or  afraid ;    on  the  contrary,  each  was  eager 


THE    PILGRIM    MEAL.  17 

for  the  hour  of  his  deliverance  to  strike,  for 
his  hateful  chains  to  fall  off,  and  for  the  word 
to  be  given  that  he  might  go  free.  Accord- 
ingly, they  stood  impatient  by  the  board  God 
had  commanded  to  be  spread ;  and  when  at 
last  a  note  of  sorrow  from  the  Egyptian 
dwellings  round  them  woke  on  the  midnight 
air,  and  that  note  increased  until  it  rose,  as 
from  the  whole  land,  into  an  exceeding  great 
and  bitter  cry,  you  can  imagine  with  what 
haste  and  exultancy  they  stooped  to  the  pre- 
pared meal,,  and  ate  it  for  their  flight.  Moses 
and  the  other  leaders  were  already  in  the 
way,  summoning  them  to  flee  ;  so  were  the 
bitter  Pharaoh  and  his  counsellors,  bitter  no 
longer,  but  utterly  subdued  at  last ;  so  was 
all  Egypt,  smitten  terribly  by  the  death,  in 
one  hour,  of  its  first-born,  "  from  the  first-born 
of  Pharaoh  that  sat  on  his  throne,  to  the  first- 
born of  the  captive  that  was  in  the  dungeon, 
and  all  the  first-born  of  cattle."  No  marvel, 
therefore,  that  in  the  Israelites,  hope  ran  high, 
and  that  they  took  God's  pledge  in  the  mid- 
night banquet  eagerly.      Their  chains  were 


18  THE    PILGRIM   MEAL. 

off;  the  path  out  of  their  dark  and  long 
bondage  was  free  ;  the  sorrows  of  the  past 
were  gone ;  and,  from  this  point,  they  were 
to  go  forth,  a  nation  and  a  name  in  the  earth. 
Yet  it  was  a  solemn  point,  that  pilgrim  meal, 
had  they  for  a  moment  realised  it  all.  They 
knew  only  the  gladness  and  the  safety  of  the 
moment ;  but  were  they  not  really  standing 
at  the  gateway  to  the  dread  desert-path  ? — as 
they  broke  and  ate  of  the  slain  lamb,  and  as, 
pilgrim-wise,  they  then  crossed  their  blood- 
marked  thresholds  out,  was  it  not  really  but 
an  entering  on  that  long  and  unknown  path 
of  God  that,  ere  it  was  done,  would  see  the 
youngest  of  them  a  gray-haired  and  worn 
man,  and  the  whole  of  that  generation  laid  in 
pilgrims'  graves?  Yea,  was  there  one  in 
Goshen,  that  night  of  escape,  who  guessed 
what  a  few  hours  of  flio:ht  would  brins^  forth 
— who  could  see  but  a  stone's-cast  down  "  the 
dim  and  perilous  way"  he  was  about,  as 
God's  pledged  follower,  to  tread?  And 
which  of  them  then  had  forethought  so  far, 
that,  from  the  passover  table,  he  could  even 


THE    PILGRIM    MEAL.  19 

guess  the  vast  measure  of  the  path,  as,  in 
God's  plan,  it  stretched  through  the  wilder- 
ness before  him  ?  Had  the  boldest  Hebrew 
realised  a  dream  of  that,  his  high-toned  confi- 
dence would  have  perished  like  lighted  flax. 
I  therefore  say,  that,  while  the  Israelites,  by 
the  blood  upon  their  doors,  and  by  their  feast 
of  the  slain  lamb,  were  pledged  in  pilgrimage 
to  God,  they  began  that  pilgrimage  not 
knowing,  or  rather  in  most  blind  mistaken- 
ness  as  to,  whither  it  would  lead.  Ah,  it  was 
to  be  their  first  lesson  in  the  Lord's  way,  that, 
unbound  of  Pharaoh,  they  were  to  be  bound 
of  God,  and  carried,  not  whither  they  would, 
but  whither  they  would  not. 

Now,  my  reader,  Christ  is  our  Passover 
sacrificed  for  us ;  and,  amidst  all  the  applica- 
tions that  may  be  made  of  the  type  in  the 
Hebrew  lamb  slain  in  Egypt,  and  the  anti- 
type Christ  slain  on  the  cross,  there  is  this 
especially  for  us  at  present — that  no  one  can 
enter,  as  a  true  pilgrim,  into  the  pathway  of 
God,  save  through  that  preparation  feast,  the 
crucified  Christ.     It   was  the   one  condition 


20  THE    PILGRIM   MEAL. 

prescribed  to  the  Israelites,  the  doors  sprin- 
kled with  blood,  the  lamb  slain  and  served 
upon  their  boards ;  only  through  that  gate 
of  sacrifice  did  each  man  issue  forth,  an 
equipped  follower  and  favorite  of  Heaven. 
So,  only  througli  the  blood  of  Jesus  can  any 
one  find  safe  entrance  on  the  path  we  speak 
of  He  can  not  else  claim  one  help  or  bless- 
ing as  he  goes  on  ;  in  his  sorrow,  he  can  not 
claim  God's  consolation ;  in  his  darkness,  he 
can  not  look  up  for  light ;  in  his  pain,  he  can 
not  draw  down  the  hands  of  healing.  And 
with  no  pity  so  deep  can  we  be  moved,  surely, 
as  with  the  pity  that  awakes  in  us  when,  look- 
ing on  a  sufferer  who  has  no  hope  and  no 
root  of  faith  in  Christ,  we  see  him  toss  in  his 
distresses,  and  even  while  he  cries  for  mercy, 
the  reality  of  God's  grace  a  fable  to  him,  and 
the  bright  pages  of  the  Word  of  God  a  blank. 
Let  no  one,  therefore,  flatter  himself,  that,  in 
the  day  when  he  is  tried,  he  can  appropriate 
to  himself  those  comforts  of  the  living  God 
which  he  only  grasps  who  has  entered  on  the 
shadowed  way  through  Christ.     Christ  is  the 


THE   PILGRIM    MEAL.  21 

first  step,  as  He  is  the  last.  "  No  man,"  He 
says  himself,  "  cometh  unto  the  Father  hut 
by  me." 

But  what  I  wish  to  bring  out  more  par- 
ticularly is — the  deep  and  awful  pledge 
given  to  God  by  any  one  who  begins  by 
coming  unto  Him  through  Christ.  I  believe 
that,  by  hundreds  who  have  most  earnest 
desires  to  be  saved,  and  saved  by  the  blood 
of  the  crucified  Jesus,  this  is  not  considered 
as  it  ought  to  be.  They,  like  the  mass 
of  escaping  Hebrews,  are  ardent  only  to 
be  free — to  pass  the  great  line  by  which 
a  Yv^eary  and  detestable  past  shall  be  fiung 
off,  and  a  new  world  of  life  and  safety 
shall  be  begun  for  them  ;  but,  in  that  ardor 
for  the  one  chief  mercy — to  be  saved — 
they  forget,  or  do  not  know,  the  dread 
consequences  they  accept,  the  pledge  they 
give,  the  desert  pathway  that  is  to  follow 
after.  Had  the  veil  been  but  lifted  for  a 
moment  to  the  fugitives  from  Egypt,  how 
their  meal  at  parting  would  have  been 
sobered ;  and,  to  the  soul  approaching  Christ, 


22  THE    PILGRIM    MEAL. 

and  seeking  Him  in  all  sincerity,  as  that 
without  Whom  it  feels  it  cannot  live  and 
dare  not  die,  but  did  a  glimpse  of  the 
-way  of  sacrifice  and  trial  appear  beyond, 
how,  like  the  young  man  in  the  Gospel 
scene,  it  would  shrink  back  sorrowfully, 
and  perhaps,  altogether  turn  away  !  Mean 
you,  then,  to  make  choice  of  Christ  as  the 
portion  of  your  soul?  Learn  it  is  no  light 
compact,  but  a  binding  of  the  very  heart 
to  Him  and  to  His  bitter  cross,  fo7^  ever. 
How  can  it  otherwise  be  ?  The  very  na- 
ture of  the  case  implies  that,  if  we  pledge 
ourselves  to  Christ,  we  cannot  hold  by 
Him  and  hold  by  the  life  we  have  hith- 
erto lived  in  the  world  also.  Who  could 
dream  of  such  a  monstrous  union ;  or 
who,  dreaming  of  it,  could  effect  it  for 
a  moment  ?  No :  the  moment  we  take  so 
great  a  step  as  to  choose  Christ,  the  poles 
of  our  life  necessarily  shift ;  we  get  a  new 
axis  to  revolve  on ;  and  just  as,  if  the 
poles  of  this  our  globe  shifted  into  new 
sockets,  there  would   be  immense  and  fear- 


THE    PILGRIM    MEAL.  23 

ful  change — seas  would  be  thrown  from 
their  beds  to  overflood  continents  and  hills, 
old  shores  would  sink,  and  new  ridges  and 
a  new  earth,  breaking  from  the  depth, 
would  come  to  light — so  the  moment  any 
life  clasps  hands  in  pledge  with  Christ, 
the  balance  of  the  old  is  gone,  the  way 
that  has  been  submerged  and  broken  up, 
the  brightness  and  beauty  that  were  re- 
joiced in  perish,  and  the  new  heavens  and 
the  new  earth  of  God's  way  must  come. 
Think  of  these  things  solemnly,  my  reader. 
Seek  not  Christ  in  light,  unreflecting  mood, 
as  so  many,  seeking  mere  ease  and  safety, 
do  :  seek  Him  in  that  lofty,  deep-forecast- 
ing spirit  that,  while  it  plights  itself  to 
Him  in  an  hour  of  joyful  banquet  and 
sweet  communion,  sees  written  next  step 
beyond,  "  Strait  is  the  gate,  and  narrow 
is  the  way  that  leadeth  unto  life."  Did 
not  the  saints  find  it  so  in  early  times  ? 
Happy  was  their  first  finding  of  their  Lord ; 
but,  ere  long,  they  discovered  also  how 
true,     that    they   must     follow    Him    "  into 


24  THE    PILGRIM    MEAL. 

prison  and  to  cleath'^ — that  the  disciple 
was  not  greater  than  his  Lord,  nor  the 
servant  than  his  master — that  it  was  their 
part,  from  which  none  might  shrink,  to 
drink  of  the  cup  of  which  He  had  drunk, 
and  to  be  baptized  with  the  baptism 
wherewith  he  had  been  baptized.  And 
though  our  modern  time  is  changed,  so 
that  the  way  for  us  is  not  now  the  fiery 
way  of  persecution  and  death,  yet  does 
not  all  true  experience  of  taking  up  with 
Christ  tell  that  the  strait  gate  and  the 
narrow  way  is  still  the  condition  of  the 
cross — that  the  cup  is  still  one  of  bit- 
terness, and  the  baptism  one  of  fire,  and 
that  the  Lord  Jesus,  thorn-crowned  and 
sorrowful  as  of  old,  stands  in  the  bleed- 
ing path,  repeating,  as  he  did  then,  "If 
any  man.  will  come  after  Me,  he  must  deny 
himself,  and  take  up  his  cross,  and  follow 
Me."  That  first  step  in  Christ,  therefore, 
must  be  a  step  in  which  the  A^ery  life  is 
given.  Be  thoroughly  convinced  of  that, 
my  reader,  ere  you  go  further  in  the  strange 


THE    PILGRIM   MEAL.  25 

pathway  of  God ;  for  it  is  written  at  the 
altar  where  you  first  eat  of  the  flesh  of 
the  Son  of  man,  and  drink  of  His  blood — 
"  Whosoever  findeth  his  life  shall  lose  it, 
and  whosoever  losetli  Ms  life  for  My  sake 
shall  find  it" — John  adds — "unto  life  eter- 
nal." 

2 


III. 

In  two  or  three  marches,  the  flying  thou- 
sands of  Israel  had  quitted  the  green  land  of 
Goshen.  They  had  taken  leave  of  its  sunny 
sward  and  the  shade  of  its  leafy  boughs,  and 
now,  in  their  vast  multitude,  were  hanging  on 
the  edge  of  the  wilderness.  With  its  dreary, 
uncharted  world  before  them  where  to  choose, 
it  was  a  moment  big  with  helplessness  and 
uncertainty.  But  the  gloom,  we  may  sup- 
pose, that  did  not  fail  to  gather  for  a  time  on 
the  prospect,  was  as  rapidly  dispelled  ;  for  as 
they  moved  on,  a  sailing  Cloud,  to  which  the 
silent  air  had  given  birth,  was  seen  to  shape 
itself  into  a  mighty  pillar,  to  take  place  in  the 
very  van  of  the  host,  and,  as  it  reached  in  its 
column  higher  than  the  eye  could  follow,  to 
reveal  itself  as  the  tent,  as  the  rolling  gar- 
ment of  the  Present  God.     And  not  only  in 


27 


the  day-time,  when  the  heat  was  great,  and 
the  throng  either  travelled  languidly  or  rested 
altogether, — not  only  then  was  the  cloud  as  a 
cool  shadow  thrown  across  the  camp,  but  in 
the  night,  when  the  fugitives  were  afoot  to 
benefit  by  the  cooler  air,  but,  without  guide, 
would  have  stumbled  in  the  black  wastes, 
then  the  cloud  became  luminous  with  fire, 
and  glowed  against  the  dark  in  lambent 
beauty.  In  this  cloud  was  the  half-hidden, 
half-revealed  Presence  that  was  to  be  with 
the  desert  wanderers  to  the  end.  It  never 
deserted  the  camp  in  its  worst  days — it  rested 
over  it  when  it  slept — it  went  before  it  to 
mark  the  way  when  it  awoke — it  hung  over 
the  next  spot  where  it  should  pitch  and  again 
repose.  And  not  only  so,  but  when,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  pursuit  of  Pharaoh,  to  appear- 
ance death  was  in  the  front  of  Israel,  death 
also  in  the  rear,  it  went  behind  instead  of 
before,  coming  as  a  dread  blind  between  the 
Egyptians  and  their  prey — to  the  latter  burn- 
ing through  the  night  with  flame,  to  the  for- 
.mer  showino;  a  side  of  thick  smoke  and  dark- 


28  '*'  FNDER   THE    CLOUD/' 

cess.  So  that  the  God4nhabited  cloud  was 
at  once  a  guide  nnd  a  shield ;  it  showed  the 
hosts  of  Moses  the  way  wherein  they  should 
go — to  an  eye  that  could  have  pierced  on 
through  all  the  weary  stages  of  the  desert,  it 
was,  so  to  speak,  a  continuous  avenue  or 
vista,  shrouding,  safe  and  sacred,  the  long 
line  of  march  the  escaping  people  were  to 
take ;  and  it  was  also  a  veil  of  angry  fire  to 
all  enemies  without,  either  darkening  and 
confounding  their  way  with  vapor  of  smoke, 
or  shooting  forth  tonges  that  made  them 
shrivel  and  perish.  As  we  shall  see  pres- 
ently, in  the  case  of  Pharaoh  and  his  furious 
chase,  it  was  but  needed  that  God  should  look 
out  on  him  from  the  cloudy  screen,  fasten  on 
him  the  eyes  that  are  as  a  flame  of  fire,  and 
at  the  one  glance,  the  trouble  both  of  fear 
and  of  destruction  fell  on  him  and  his.  No 
marvel,  then,  this  Cloud  was  a  banner  such 
as  displayed  to  the  camp  of  Israel  noble 
things.  It  was  as  a  break  in  the  silent 
heaven  of  the  providence  of  God,  letting 
them  palpably  behold,  in  specimen  or  glimpse, 


"UNDER   THE    CLOUD."  29 

the  vast  overshadowing  Presence  that,  above, 
around,  beneath,  bore  them  in  the  hollow  of 
its  hand.  Just  as  in  any  exquisite  machinery 
of  human  workmanship,  such  as  in  the  stately 
steam-vessel  moving  gloriously  on  upon  the 
waters,  you  find  not  the  secret  of  its  so  calmly 
traversing  the  wave,  till  a  door  is  opened  for 
you,  and  you  get  a  glance  into  the  multi- 
tudinous shafts  plying  in  its  depths — so  the 
heaven  of  divine  working  was  around  the 
desert  ;  but  the  Israelites  understood  and 
knew  not  till,  in  the  pillared  cloud,  a  lattice, 
so  to  speak,  was  opened,  and  through  that 
they  saw  flashes  of  the  mighty  God,  Who  was 
over  all,  blessed  for  ever. 

Who  now  can  doubt  that  of  that  shadow 
we  have,  at  this  moment,  the  reality  ?  If 
there  was  one  lesson  more  than  another,  my 
reader,  taught  the  disciples  by  their  Lord  ere 
He  left  the  earth,  it  was  this  lesson  of  His 
Saviour-presence  that  was  to  be.  It  was  the 
lesson  He  gave  them  deliberately  to  study  in 
the  forty  days  betwixt  His  resurrection  and 
ascension.     He  lingered  during  that  time  ixx 


30 


earthly  scenes,  but  not  as  He  had  been.  He 
went  and  came  mysteriously  among'  His  fol- 
lowers. He  was  now  in  the  midst  of  them, 
flesh  and  blood  ;  He  now  vanished  from 
before  their  eyes,  as  a  spirit.  He  hovered  on 
the  boundary  between  the  two  worlds :  one 
moment  gleaming  on  the  darkness  of  the 
earthly  side,  next  moment  fading  away  into 
the  brightness  of  the  heavenly  side ;  and  the 
latter  more  and  more,  that  He  might  draw 
the  eyes  of  observers,  such  as  the  disciples 
were,  on  and  up  ;  train  them  to  look,  not  at 
the  seen,  but  the  unseen ;  teach  them  to  con- 
ceive a  better,  nobler  Presence  than  the  old 
presence  of  the  body  ;  further  off,  yet  nearer ; 
more  spiritual,  yet  more  true  ;  extending 
from  them  up  to  the  throne  of  heaven,  yet 
close,  in  its  tenderness,  to  their  very  hearts ; 
till,  when  the  lesson  was  fairly  read,  and  the 
great  idea  had  seized  a  hold  upon  them  that 
could  not  die,  their  Lord  passed  finally  away 
from  material  sight.  His  last  words  on  Beth- 
any, "  Lo,  /  am  loitli  you  alivay,  even  unto 
the  end  of  the  world."     And  was  it  not  this 


31 


Saviour-presence  that  was  deepened  in  tliem 
in  the  fire  of  Pentecost?  Was  it  not  this 
made  their  light  and  safeguard  in  their  thou- 
sand perils  after  ?  And  has  the  reality  not 
been  snatched  up  by  all  holy,  suffering  hearts, 
by  all  weary  lives,  by  all  followers  of  Christ 
since,  who,  in  their  pathway  on  the  earth, 
have  gone  on  "  enduring  as  seeing  Him  who 
'is  invisible,"  that  there  is  this  Saviour-pre- 
sence, vast  as  the  span  of  heaven,  yet  revealed 
to  us  near  as,  yea,  nearer  than,  the  pillared 
cloud  of  the  desert,  on  the  right  hand  and  on 
the  left,  sleepless  in  the  night,  as  in  the  day, 
going  with  us  where  we  go,  dwelling  with  us 
where  we  dwell,  and  breathing  such  a  voice 
into  the  ear  as,  "  Fear  not  :  for  I  have 
redeemed  thee,  I  have  called  thee  by  thy 
name  ;  thou  art  Mine.  When  thou  passest 
through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee ;  and 
through  the  rivers,  they  shall  not  overflow 
thee:  when  thou  walkest  through  the  fire, 
thou  shalt  not  be  burned;  neither  shall  the 
flame  kindle  upon  thee."  I  ask  if  any 
redeemed  soul  would  not  give  up  all,  a  thou- 


32  "  UNDER   THE    CLOUD.'^ 

sand  times,  ere  it  would  give  up  this  living, 
real,  face-to-face  Presence  of  its  God  ?  How 
could  it,  wanting  this  Presence,  live  ? — how 
could  it  die  ? 

I  am  aware  that,  when  we  speak  thus,  it 
is  ready  to  be  asked  by  some.  How  can 
we  know  at  all  times  we  are  guided  and 
shielded  by  the  holy  Presence?  How  can 
we  be  sure  that  each  day's  step  we  take 
is  a  step  beneath  the  cloud — that  each 
day's  course,  even  when  we  design  it  as 
best  we  can,  is  not  a  wandering  of  our 
own  into  the  wilds,  but  a  clear  stage  for- 
ward in  the  way  led  for  us  by  the  foot- 
prints of  God  ?  The  Hebrews  saw  the  cloud, 
as  it  rose  or  again  settled  on  their  path, 
and  could  be,  therefore,  under  no  mistake  ; 
but  how  can  we,  without  some  sign,  be 
always  confident,  and  not  fear  rather  that 
we  often  make  a  guess-work  of  our  life, 
even  when  we  speak  of  casting  all  upon, 
and  being  guided  in  all  by,  our  Saviour- 
God  ?  I  answer,  that  it  is  in  this  great  case 
as  in  the  faint  figure  of  a  common  earthly 


"  UNDER   THE    CLOUD.''  33 


case.       For   example,  where    there   are  the 
bonds  of  deep  affection,  as   in  the   love  of 
child    and  parent,  it  is  well  known  how  an 
atmosphere   of  sweet   instinct,  so  to   speak, 
breathes   between   the    two;    there   is   such 
a   union  and   communion  of  the    two  lives, 
that    the  child  will   instinctively  feel  a  pre- 
sence  round   it   even    when   the    parent   is 
not  there — will  more  than  guess,  will  hiow^ 
the   parent's  v/ill — will  catch   the  voice,  the 
light,  the    influence,  the    love    of    the    pa- 
rent   on   its    face    and   heart,    and  will    be 
led     by    these    without   words,    and    come 
through    such    training,    such    feeling    forth 
of  its  child  love  and  obedience,  to  do,  ulti- 
mately and  surely,  just   the  very  thing  the 
/"     parent  would  desire.     The   same  is  true  of 
two   friends   whose   hearts   are   one :    inter- 
course between  them  is  of  such  a  sort,  that 
the    one   is    instinctively   led  by  the   other, 
feels   the   shadow    of  his  influence,  goes  by 
the   principles  his  life  sheds  forth,  and,  out 
of  deep   heart-intimacy,   does,    beyond   mis- 
take, the   very   things   his   living   voice,    if 


tC   TTXTT^,:,T,      mTTT:,       ^t  /^ttt^    " 


34  "under  the  cloud 

by  his  side  always,  would  inspire.  Simi- 
larly with  those  even  divided  from  us  by 
death,  but  whose  spirit  we  have  drunk: 
you  know  it  in  the  case  of  beloved  ones, 
v^hose  wishes  we  sacredly  fulfil  long  after 
they  are  in  their  graves — whose  power  over 
us  is  deeper,  dead,  than  when  they  lived : 
you  know  it  even  in  the  case  of  writers, 
the  genius  of  whose  books  we  have  breathed 
until  they  have  become  a  very  part  of  us, 
and,  as  we  obey  the  moulding  of  their 
thoughts,  we  speak  of  them  rightly  as 

"  Those  dead,  but  sceptred  kings, 
Who  rule  us  from  their  urns." 

What  are  these  but  shadows  from  the  inti- 
macy between  redeemed  souls  and  Christ? 
I  may  not  hear  His  voice,  nor  see  the 
cloud,  as  the  Hebrews  saw  it,  on  my  path  ; 
but  I  live,  as  my  daily  sustenance,  in  the 
air  of  His  love — I  am  familiar  with  His 
Way,  and  Word,  and  Life — I  put  forth  sails 
to  catch  the  breathing  of  His  Spirit — by 
earnest   prayer,    I    bring    down    His    hands 


"  UNDER    THE    CLOUD."  35 

to  mine,  that  tliey  may  grasp  the  helm — I 
steer  by  the  chart  of  His  blessed  Book — in 
holier  ordinance  and  sacrament,  I  climb, 
ever  and  again,  to  the  watch-house  of  the 
topmast,  that  I  may  see,  yet  more  and 
more,  "  the  King  in  His  beauty,  and  the 
land  that  is  very  far  off;"  and,  in  all  that 
acquainting  of  my  soul  with  God — that 
travelling  to  and  fro  between  the  springs 
and  heart  of  my  life  and  His — that  dwell- 
ing of  my  soul  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Almighty — I  cannot  hut  be  in  the  right 
way — I  cannot  but  interpret  to  myself, 
without  words,  but  instinctively,  as  the  very 
readiest  motions  of  the  heart,  what  the 
blessed  Lord  would  have  me  do — I  cannot 
but  move,  in  the  blackest  day  and  the 
sorest  perplexity,  as  certainly  and  as  safely 
as  if  I  heard  an  articulate  voice  talk  to 
me,  and  say,  "  This  is  the  way ;  walk  ye 
in  it."  I  grant  that  an  unprayerful  strange- 
ness between  the  soul  and  Christ,  an  ac- 
quaintance with  Him  rarely  and  briefly  made 
and    coldly    entertained — I   grant,    at  once, 


36  "under  the  cloud." 

tliat  tliat  never  will  or  can  give  security  that 
a  man's  way,  in  any  given  circurastances,  is 
God-ordered  and  right,  however  he  may  speak 
of  following  God's  guidance  and  being  re- 
signed. The  words,  on  such  a  one's  lips,  are 
simple  mockery.  But  not  so  with  him  the 
very  breath  of  v/hose  existence  is,  "For  me 
to  live  is  Christ."  He  dwells  beneath  the 
cloud.  To  him  that  Saviour-presence  is  more 
palpable  than  earth,  sea,  or  sky.  These  are 
the  shadovrs — that  the  substance.  In  the  day- 
time of  his  distress,  it  lies  over  him  a  cool 
covert  from  the  heat ;  in  the  night-time,  when 
a  thousand  terrors  beset  the  soul — oh,  in  the 
night-time  of  grief,  by  reason  of  the  very 
background  of  the  darkness,  the  lustrous  Pre- 
sence in  the  cloud  becomes  a  fire !  The  dark- 
ness round  the  sufferer  is  made  as  the  light. 
Who  would  have  seen  and  felt  that  glow  of 
Christ's  love,  but  for  the  blackness  first,  and 
the  bitterness  of  the  night  of  fear  ?  Would 
the  bereaved  have  leaned  on  Him  so  near,  if 
their  other  stays  had  not  gone  ?  Would  the 
ey^s  have  seen  His   beauty  so  intense,  if  the 


^'  UNDER   THE    CLOUD."  37 

other  faces  of  their  love  had  not  perished  ? 
Ask  the  sorrowful,  all  whose  help  and  hope 
in  man  have  died  ;  ask  the  poor  martyr,  go- 
ing to  the  stake  ;  ask  the  saint,  living  long 
years,  and  at  last  dying  on  the  rack  ;  ask  the 
pilgrims  and  soldiers  of  God,  who  in  all  ages 
have  upheld  sinking  causes,  have  contended 
one  against  a  thousand,  and  have  held  life 
cheap,  that  truth  might  triumph — and  what 
say  they,  in  their  sore  and  evil  hour  ?  Is 
there  mistrust  upon  their  brow  ?  On  the  con- 
trary, is  the  eye  not  bright,  the  brow  calm, 
and  the  gaze  upward,  fastened  on  the  Saviour- 
cloud  ?  Have  these  not  dwelt  secure  ;  and, 
from  the  very  depths,  have  they  not  cried,  not 
in  pitifulness,  as  we  would  often  think,  but  in 
victory,  '^  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength;  He 
is  a  present  help  in  all  trouble  ?"  We  cannot 
explain  these  things,  my  reader,  save  by  the 
deep  reality  of  that  Immanuel  Who  is  the 
Guide  at  once  and  the  Shield  of  the  pilgrim's 
pathvray — in  a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day,  in  a 
pillar  of  fire  by  night. 


ly. 

The  story  of  the  passage  through  the  Red 
Sea  marked  itself  so  deeply  in  the  traditions, 
in  the  poetry,  in  the  whole  sacred  life  and 
memory  of  Israel,  that  not  only  in  the  back- 
ground of  the  Old  Testament  annals  does  its 
impress  remain  the  grandest  and  most  majes- 
tic ;  but,  transfused  through  those  rich  reli- 
gious hues  we  borrow  to  this  day  from  the 
Hebrews'  Bible  when  we  want  the  very 
expression  of  the  heart,  this  great  event  has 
had  its  fame  spread  throughout  the  Avorld. 
The  passage  was  designed  of  God  to  be,  as  it 
were,  the  last  clear  step  of  His  people  from 
bondage  into  freedom, — from  the  crushing- 
confines  of  Egypt  into  the  broad  desert, — 
from  the  namelessness  of  Goshen  into  the 
rank  and  triumph  of  a  God-guided  nation. 
It  was  as  if,  in  the  bed  of  the  Red  Sea,  He 

83 


"THROUGH    THE    SEA."  39 

drew  the  deep  line — by  the  force  of  His  own 
right  arm  He  made  the  Israelite  hosts  to 
cross ;  He  then  closed  the  gap ;  to  the  last 
spent  force  of  Egypt,  as  it  hastened  up  in  pur- 
suit, He  said,  "  Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  but 
no  further!"  and  there,  breaking  the  bond 
between  it  and  Israel  for  ever,  He  parted  the 
enslaved  past  from  the  noble  future,  and  in 
witness  thereof  to  the  Israelites,  as  they  clus- 
tered on  the  thither  side.  He  showed  the 
Egyptians,  terrible  in  their  wrath  and  oppres- 
sion no  longer,  but  mere  corpses,  dead  on  the 
sea-shore. 

This  great  event,  which  so  started  them  on 
their  wilderness  history,  was  deliberately 
thrust  by  God  in  the  Israelites'  way ;  for  we 
read  that  in  their  first  flight  there  was  the 
nearer  road  to  Canaan  through  the  region  of 
Philistia,  by  which  they  might  have  traversed 
the  distance  in  a  few  days'  journey.  But 
God,  of  set  purpose,  led  them  not  in  that 
direction ;  because  the  Philistines  were  fierce 
and  warlike,  and  the  newly  emancipated 
slaves,  unpractised  in  the  use  of  arms,  would 


40  "THROUGH    THE    SEA." 

have  been  scattered  in  their  terror  before 
them,  and  at  the  very  ontset  lost.  Therefore, 
avoiding  the  route  so  direct  and  short,  the 
great  Guide  of  Israel  led  the  multitude  in  a 
wide  circle,  their  faces  away  from  Canaan 
altogether,  down  among  the  sandy  flats  by 
the  Red  Sea  shore,  and  southward  along  its 
wave.  What  mxeant  this  bewildering  devia- 
tion— this  gratuitous  placing  of  a  deep, 
impassable  flood  between  the  fugitives  and 
the  good  land  ?  Was  it  not  folly  and  mad- 
ness in  the  leadership  of  Moses?  Did  not 
Pharaoli  and  his  people  think  so,  when  it  was 
reported  their  escaped  bondsmen  were  blindly 
entangled  in  the  wastes  about  Migdol  and 
Pi-hahiroth — when,  summoning  their  chariots 
and  horses,  they  made  after  them  in  chase — 
and,  when  coming  in  sight  of  their  vast  wan- 
dering crowd,  they  beheld  them  in  the  very 
mouth  of  danger,  the  Red  Sea  in  their  front, 
cliffs  and  mountains  frowning  to  meet  them 
in  the  south,  and  now  the  Egyptians  hanging 
in  an  armed  cloud  upon  their  rear  ?  What 
palpable  misguiding   of  the  miserable  fugi- 


"THROUGH    THE    SEA."      '  41 

tives  was  this  ?  and  was  there  not  some  reason 
in  their  complaint,  when,  looking  here  at  the 
short  road  to  Canaan  denied  them,  and  look- 
ing there  at  the  complicated  dangers  they 
had  literally  courted  and  rushed  upon  instead, 
they  cried  bitterly  to  Moses,  and  said,  "  Were 
there  no  graves  in  Egypt,  that  you  brought 
us  out  to  die  in  this  wilderness?" 

Yet,  my  reader,  in  a  few  hours  how  deeply 
would  these  murmurers  own  the  care  and 
wisdom  of  their  God  ?  What  was  it  but  an 
instance  of  the  contrast  we  have  rife  at  this 
day — the  short-sightedness  of  man,  the  far- 
sightedness of  God  ?  Natural  guidance  would 
have  led  the  Israelites  by  the  near  way 
through  Philistia,  but  the  shock  of  arms  they 
must  in  that  case  have  met  in  their  passage 
through  its  defiles  was  the  very  last  thing 
they  could  sustain;  had  they  but  seen  war, 
they  would  have  turned  and  fled;  whereas 
the  other  path  was  suited  much  more  to  what 
they  could  bear :  the  barrier  of  the  sea,  the 
long  round,  the  hills  hemming  them  about, 
and  the  hot  pursuit  of  Pharaoh  bristling  in 


42  *'  THROUGH    THE    SEA." 

their  rear;  even  all  these  were  really  less 
formidable  to  them,  because  God  had  been 
for  many  days  working  great  wonders  in  the 
land  in  their  behalf ;  some  confidence,  there- 
fore, was  developed  in  them,  that  His  arm 
was  not  shortened  nor  His  ear  heavy;  there 
was  expectation  that  the  marvels  He  had 
done  in  the  past,  in  this  great  crisis  He  would 
excel  now;  and,  as  they  hurried  on,  bewil- 
dered and  in  terror,  they  still  were  less  dis- 
mayed than  had  their  ranks  been  broken  by 
some  bloody  onset  in  the  Philistine  desert. 
When  the  waters  parted  at  their  feet,  and 
made  a  way  for  them  to  cross,  and  when, 
crossed  over,  they  saw  these  same  waters 
close,  a  grave  above  their  enemies,  they  felt 
this  guidance  of  their  God  right,  and  sang  a 
song  of  thanksgiving.  So  with  us  in  the 
desert  way  ;  one  path  branches  off,  quick, 
and  apparently  the  best ;  but  that  way  lies, 
we  shall  say,  the  heart-wound  of  family 
bereavement,  and  a  certain  nature  is  not 
practised  yet  in  God's  grace,  or  of  strong 
faculty  enough  to  bear  that  pain,  and  it  is, 


"•  TPIROUGH    THE    SEA.  43 

therefore,  turned  aside  into  the  long  path  of 
personal  sickness  instead  ;  tedious  days  elapse, 
broken  health  makes  whole  years  what  seems 
to  us  a  track  of  waste  and  misery,  and  death 
in  haunting  shapes  shuts  us  in ;  but  still  we 
are  in  a  condition  spiritually  to  endure  all 
this  better  than  the  other;  and  when  God 
opens  at  last  the  passage  of  deliverance,  and 
we  go  through  the  worst  terrors  dry-shod, 
looking  back  we  see  how  wise  He,  how  fool- 
ish we ;  we  praise  His  mercy  that  He  put  not 
on  us  what  we  could  not  bear,  but  that  He 
put  on  us  what,  through  His  grace,  and  to 
our  own  signal  profit,  we  have  borne.  So, 
again,  some  could  not  stand  the  swift  desola- 
tion that  fell  on  Job  ;  God,  therefore,  leads 
these  about,  trying  them,  and  seeing  what  is 
in  their  heart,  through  mingled  fortune  ;  as 
He  did  in  the  trial  and  tempering  of  David. 
So  again,  we  pray  for  one  cup  of  life  ;  but  in 
that  cup  there  may  be  the  short,  sharp  shrift 
of  sudden  death,  which  would  be  a  sorry 
case  for  some  ;  wherefore  God  gives  into  our 
hands  another  cup,  deeper  and  more  bitter,  as 


44  ^'  THROUGH    THE    SEA." 


we  think,  by  far,  for  with  it  there  comes  slow 
decline,  a  broken  energy  just  when  we  were 
keenest  to  be  up  with  those  who  are  passing 
us  in  the  race  ;  with  it  there  come  disappoint- 
ments and  the  forcible  bending  aside  of  all 
the  aims  we  held  dear  in  life  ;  but  what  then  ? 
it  is  all  more  profoundly  answerable  for  us ; 
the  deep  attractive  colors  of  life  gradually 
pale ;  death,  as  we  near  it,  opens  in  a  glorious 
gateway,  and  we  pass  to  the  further  shore, 
owning  the  nobleness  of  God's  manner,  and 
our  song  full  of  His  name  for  ever.     Hast 
thou  not,  0  my  soul,  in   secret  thought,  felt 
the  force  of  these  tender  outbreaks  of  God's 
dealing  ?  how  He  tempers  every  wind  to  the 
life  it  blows  upon  ?  how  the  near  and  hasty 
way  that  so   invites  us^  is   not    always  His 
chosen  way,  often  the  contrary  ?  how,  while 
we  take  the  short  earthly  view.  He  takes  for 
us   the   far   heavenly   view  ?  how,  while  we 
urge  vehemently  in  one   direction,  whither 
lie  loss  and  death,  He  draws  us  in  another 
direction,  '^  in  a  way  we  know  not,  in  a  path 
we  have  not  known,"  but  whither,  if  we  have 


"  XHROUGH  THE  SEA.  45 

some  patience,  some  trust  in  God,  some 
iiplooking  out  of  the  darkness  around  us  into 
His  light,  lie  victory,  and  an  heart  changed 
and  sanctified,  and  the  gain  at  last  of  eternal 
life  ?  Hast  thou  not,  0  my  soul,  flown  more 
home  to  God  in  such  meditations  as  these, 
and  cried,  "  This  God  is  my  God — He  will  be 
my  guide,  even  unto  death !" 

But  vfe  return  to  the  passage  of  the  sea. 
It  was  evening  as  the  first  ranks  of  the  long 
Israelite  train,  appearing  through  the  defiles 
of  Migdol,  caught  sight  of  its  blue  waters; 
then  slowly  the  multitude  wound  forward; 
the  low  ground  on  the  shore  was  blackened 
with  its  numbers,  and  the  eyes  of  all,  we  may 
be  sure,  sought  what  was  to  be  next.  In  the 
westering  sun,  it  must  have  been  a  striking 
scene :  in  front,  the  deep,  dark  sea ;  far  across 
it,  against  the  eastern  sky,  the  pearl  lines  of 
the  hills  of  Asia ;  to  the  south,  the  gigantic 
barrier  of  cliffs,  forbidding  all  way  in  that 
direction  ;  and  then,  behind,  on  the  heights 
which  the  Israelites  had  just  passed,  the 
troops  of  Pharaoh    gathering  in  an  ominous 


46  "  THROUGH    THE    SEA. 

cloud.     It  looked  like  the  very  net  of  ruin  ; 
and  as  the  light  of  day  passed,  and  the  short 
twilight  deepened  quickly  into   darkness,  of 
course  every  fear  was  magnified,  and  the  cry 
of  reproach  against  Moses  rose  throughout 
the  camp.     He  was  not  wanting  in  that  ter- 
rible  hour.     Yet  what  was  his  expedient? 
Nought  but  that  they  should  ''  stand  still,  and 
see  the  salvation  of  the  Lord!"     Was  it  not 
like  wild  mockery  to  speak  thus  in  face  of  the 
tumultuous  thousands  ?     Yet  the  heroic  con- 
fidence of  the  man  may  have  struck  a  mo- 
ment's calm  ;  when,  strange  to  say,  the  order 
next — straight,  too,  from   the   lips   of    God 
Himself — was,    '^  Speak   to   the   children   of 
Israel  that  they  go  forward  /"    Were  the  two 
admonitions  not  in  contradiction?  or,  if  not 
so,  how  was  the  go  forward  to  be  obeyed  ? 
The  feet  of  the  people  were  already  washed 
by   the   lapping   wave — were   they  to  walk 
blind   and    desperate  into   its    depths?    No, 
neither   blind   nor    desperate,   certainly,   but 
with  perfect  trust  in  God  even  here.     For,  as 
the  first  steps  moved  forward  on  the  beach, 


''  THROUGH    THE    SEA.  47 

God  opened  up  their  way.    By  His  command 
Moses  stretched  his  rod  over  the  deep,  and  im- 
mediately there  was  heard  the  rising  wind,  and 
the  waters,  as  the  Israelite  feet  came  on,  were 
found  to  part.     The  awful  march  began ;  the 
sea  stood  up  like  walls ;  and,  as  the  Paschal 
moon  rose,  throwing  splendor  on  the  storm, 
the  columns  of  Israel  in  silence  traversed  the 
deep    cleft    cut    for    them,    following    Him 
"  Whose  way  is  in  the  sea,  and  His  path  in 
the  great  waters,  and  His  footsteps  are  not 
known!"     By  the  dawn  of  next  day,  all  was 
over.     The   cloudy  pillar  had  gone  behind, 
baffling    the    Egyptians   in   the    night  ;    and 
when,  in  foolhardy  venture,  they  had  rushed 
after  their  escaping  prey  into  the  deep,  God 
took   them    at   the    dreadful   vantage  ;     first 
troubling  them  with  His  fiery  glance,  so  that 
their  chariot  wheels  came  off,  and  they  drave 
heavily;    and   then,    when,    dismayed,    they 
would  have  fled,  turning  the  wind  and  sea 
against  them,  so  that,  in  the  struggling  day- 
dawn,    the   whole  host   was   overswept   and 
drowned.     To   the   Israelites,   on   the   other 


48  "  THROUGH    THE    SEA." 

shore,  was  it  not  all  as  a  dream  ?  A  few 
hours  ago,  they  had  been  deep-entangled 
and  helpless ;  now,  at  the  touch  of  God,  the 
whole  elements  of  night  and  evil  were  broken 
up  and  vanished  round  them  like  the  shadovf  s 
of  some  dissolving  view ;  and  while  their 
worst  foes,  the  Egyptians,  whom  they  had 
seen  and  cowered  from  at  nightfall,  they 
should  now,  save  for  a  few  scattered  corpses, 
see  no  more  for  ever,  they  themselves,  out  of 
all  that  death  and  ruin,  were  lifted  up,  their 
feet  set  upon  a  rock,  and  all  their  goings 
established!  It  was  a  comment,  more  than 
speech  could  make,  on  the  two  watchwords 
given  the  host  in  the  crisis  of  the  night : 
"Stand  still,  and  see;"  and  again,  "Go  for- 
ward!" 

We  have  asked  if  these  two  watchwords 
were  not  seemingly  in  contradiction.  Not 
with  the  Israelites,  assuredly  ;  and  in  the  holy 
teachings  whereby  God  has  perfected  His 
people  since,  never ;  but  the  contrary.  As 
for  the  Israelites,  they  had  reached  a  point  of 
last  perplexity,  when  heart  or  hand  of  flesh 


''through  the  sea."  49 

could  do  no  more.  But  it  was  God's  way ; 
and  then  it  was  they  were  adjured  to  "  stand 
still  and  see " — to  cast  their  cause  forward 
upon  Him,  with  eyes  raised  ardently  to  meet 
His  salvation  ;  while,  in  response  to  that 
trust,  came  the  command  next,  "  Go  for- 
ward ;"  hardly  one  step  in  obedience  to 
which  had  been  taken — taken  in  the  black 
night — taken  in  the  teeth  of  impossibilities, 
as  it  would  seem — taken  in  sublime  and  abso- 
lute faith — when  God  justified  the  deed,  a 
path  opened,  and,  as  it  opened,  night  and  its 
horrors  gave  back  like  rolling  shadows,  and 
the  God-guided  host  passed,  not  to  safetj 
only,  but  to  victory.  So,  not  otherwise  with 
those  who  have  followed  in  the  pathway  of 
God.  There  have  been  moments  when,  in 
the  straits  of  hard  and  perilous  duty,  they 
have  been  arrested  ;  every  frown  has  been 
against  them ;  every  menace  has  threatened 
them  ;  and,  in  the  solitude  of  an  utterly  help- 
less, friendless  hour,  the  spirit,  shrinking,  has 
begun  to  ask  if  retreat  would  not  be  best. 
But  then  has  been  the  moment,  in  a  strong, 


50  "  THROUGH    THE    SEA. 


pure  conscience,  to  stand  still  and  look  up, 
referring  all  to  God.  And  never  has  such 
confidence  looked  in  vain ;  for,  from  that 
dark  point  of  issue  where  the  soul  has 
paused,  the  word  has  been,  not  retreat  but 
forward — deeper  yet  in  difficulty,  to  closer 
quarters  in  the  battle ;  and  as  the  dauntless 
step,  to  the  world's  amazement,  has  pressed 
on,  forthwith  the  network  has  unravelled — 
God  has  made  for  it  a  way,  deepening,  bright- 
ening, scattering,  step  by  step,  fear  and  dark- 
ness in  the  light  of  victory.  Thus  the  course 
of  all  martyrs  and  confessors  and  holy  lives, 
who,  in  the  face  of  an  angry  world,  have 
asserted  the  truth  and  purity  of  God,  speak 
to  us  strikingly.  They  have  all  had  their 
crises,  when  it  was  a  time  with  them  of  soli- 
tariness and  fear;  but,  standing  still,  they 
have  appealed  to  God ;  they  will  not  go  back, 
but  they  will  appeal  to  Him  ;  and,  conscience, 
truth,  God's  word,  urging  them,  they  will  go 
forward,  forward,  though  it  should  be  into  the 
very  hungeringof  the  jaws  of  death,  when  God 
has  at  that  point  unfolded  glorious  paths  for 


"  THROUGH    THE    SEA.  51 

them,  and  the  blackness  and  hostility  of  one 
day  changed  into  triumph  for  them  and  for 
their  cause  the  next.  And  so  now,  at  this 
hour,  in  the  thickening  of  adversity,  how 
many  souls  are  cast  down  as  to  the  grave ! 
"  All  these  things  are  against  me,"  they 
exclaim,  in  the  cry  of  Jacob.  And  certainly 
there  are  cases,  un exaggerated,  of  sickness, 
or  of  earthly  loss,  or  of  spiritual  despond- 
ency, or  of  forlorn  desertedness  in  life,  in 
which  the  horizon  closes  in  like  night ;  every- 
thing without  is  bleak  and  sorrowful,  and 
within  there  is  as  the  last  chill  upon  the 
heart.  Oh,  how  good  then  to  hold  thyself 
still  in  God ;  to  gather  up  all  the  grace  within 
thee  ;  to  bestir  thy  soul ;  to  revive  its  con- 
fidence ;  and,  according  to  the  watchword  of 
Moses,  as  he  faced  the  blackening  tide,  to 
"  stand  still,  and  see  the  salvation  of  the 
Lord!"  Yerily,  thou  follower  of  the  Cross, 
it  is  no  vain  or  foolish  confidence.  The  other 
watchword,  it  is  true,  may  startle  thee  :  "  (xo 
forward^  deeper,  that  is,  still  in  sorrow,  appa- 
rently  down   into   the  very  billows   of   the 


52  "  THROUGH    THE    SEA." 

night;  but  it  is  the  counterpart  of  the  "  Stand 
still,  and  see  ;"  and  if  thou  hast  faith  and 
patience  and  courage  to  obey,  thou  art  on 
the  very  border  of  the  opening  way  of  God ; 
before  thy  feet  He  will  divide  the  waters,  and 
thou  wilt  pass  through,  not  to  be  safe  only, 
but  to  be  raised  on  a  rock  of  brightness  and 
of  praise  for  ever. 

Learn,  then,  the  value  of  the  two  watch- 
words of  the  Red  Sea.  They  deserve  to  be 
woven  on  the  Christian's  banner,  not  less  than 
on  Israel's,  as  the  twin  signals  of  his  course. 
Far  from  being  in  contradiction,  they  are  one. 
They  are  word  and  counter-word — they  are 
obverse  and  reverse  of  the  one  medallion — 
they  are  strophe  and  antistrophe  of  one  song. 
What !  is  it  answer  to  our  expectation  and 
our  prayer,  you  say,  as  we  stand  still  and  see 
the  salvation  of  the  Lord,  that  we  are  bidden 
go  forward,  when  it  is  our  very  standing 
point,  that  further  we  cannot  go — we  are  at 
the  waves'  edge,  and  to  press  on  is  death? 
Yes,  it  is  answer ;  but  then,  in  that  moment 
we  are  elevated  from  our  mere  human  energy 


*' THROUGH    THE    SEA."  53 


to  lean  all  on  God ;  and  in  the  greatness  of 
that  new  state,  we  can  "  do  all  things  through 
Christ  which  strengtheneth  us,"  as  says  St. 
Paul ;  the  sea  is  gone,  and  our  way  is  plain. 
0  marvel  of  alternate  trust  and  action,  pray- 
ing and  doing,  looking  up  to  God  and  going 
forward  !      How  many  thousands  have  been 
the  victories  written  on  the  Cross  that  have 
been  thus  achieved !     Look  at  that  one  glori- 
ous record  in  the  107th  Psalm.     The  wan- 
derer in  the  wilderness  is  as  he  would  die  of 
thirst ;  he  cries  to  God ;  the  way  opens,  and 
he  is  in  the  city  of  habitation.     The  fettered 
captive  prays  from  his  dungeon ;  he  is  in  that 
hour   free.     The   sufferer   from    his   sickbed 
sighs  his  pain ;  and  he  is  whole.      The  sailor, 
tossing  in  the  storm,  stretches  out  his  hands ; 
and   he   is   floating  into  the  haven   of  rest. 
What  are  these  but  the  instant  rescue  of  our 
God  ?     Oh,  never  blench  from  this  old  simple 
faith.     "  Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto 
Thee,  0  God."      ''The  waters  saw  Thee,  0 
God :  the  waters  saw  Thee  :  they  were  afraid: 
the  depths  also  were  troubled.     The  clouds 


54  "through  the  sea." 

poured  out  water :  the  skies  sent  out  a  sound : 
Thine  arrows  also  went  abroad.  The  voice 
of  Thy  thunder  was  in  the  heavens :  the  light- 
nings lightened  the  world :  the  earth  trem- 
bled and  shook."  "  Thou  leddest  Thy  peo- 
ple like  a  flock  by  the  hand  of  Moses  and 
Aaron." 


V. 

Could  there  be  a  greater  contrast  than  be- 
tween the  breaking  of  that  morning  to  Israel 
on  the  Arabian  shore,  and  the  deepening  of 
the  last  night  about  them,  as  they  still  stood 
on  the  shore  next  Egypt  ?  In  the  one  case, 
it  was  the  picture  of  a  great  huddled  multi- 
tude, not  knowing  but  their  next  step  was  to 
be  death  ;  fear  and  night  came  together ;  and, 
in  despite  of  the  glow  of  God's  presence  in  the 
cloud,  and  the  fearless  confidence  with  which 
Moses  walked  and  spoke,  the  scene  Yras  one, 
wild,  confused,  and  suggestive,  everywhere 
the  alarmed  gaze  looked,  of  one  terror  worse 
than  another.  In  the  other  case,  the  morning 
breaks  in  its  eastern  fairness ;  not  an  Israelite 
has  been  lost  in  the  strange  passage  of  the 
night ;  the  migrating  thousands  are  arrayed 
on  the  white  sandy  slopes  along  the  Asiatic 

55 


56  THE    SONG    OF   MOSES. 

edge  of  the  Red  Sea,  and  from  thence,  look- 
ing back,  they  have  the  deep  black  gulf  of 
separation  rolling  its  waters  calmly  at  their 
feet — beyond,  the  spot  of  last  night's  fear,  still 
enough  now — ^behind  that  again,  the  long  sil- 
ver-hued  ridge  of  hills  screening  the  dread 
land  whence  they  had  escaped.  Who  of  them 
could  enough  realise  the  change  ?  Look  long 
and  earnestly,  as  they  must  have  done,  they 
could  not  but  think  how  beyond  those  hills 
lay  what  they  should  never  see  again — the 
teeming  valley  of  the  Nile,  in  which  they  and 
their  fathers  had  been  slaves,  the  cities  of  its 
wealth  and  old  civilisation,  the  temples,  and 
the  power,  and  the  wondrous  Egyptian  life 
that  had  flung  on  them  such  a  shadow.  Deep 
now  was  the  gulf  between,  and  for  ever. 
Here  the  waters  that  divided  ebbed  and 
flowed  as  the  boundary  line  of  God — ever 
and  anon  a  pale  relic  of  the  smitten  hosts  of 
Pharaoh  turning  up  upon  the  beach  to  tell 
how  utter  was  the  severance ;  and  henceforth 
Israel  was  to  turn  to  scenes  how  different  far ; 
to  the  wide,  free  desert,  where  a  builded  city 


THE    SONG    OF    MOSES.  57 

there  was  none,  where  a  human  sound  scarce 
ever  broke  the  silence,  nature  in  its  wildness 
roamed  at  large,  and  far  as  eye  could  reach, 
there  was  no  check  or  bound  to  their  going 
whither  they  chose.  It  was  just  upon  the 
edge,  then,  of  this  new  life  and  world,  the 
delivered  people,  in  the  glorious  break  of 
that  morning,  stood ;  and  as  they  ran  over  all 
that  God  had  done  for  them,  and  specially 
over  the  mighty  redemption  of  the  night,  no 
marvel  that  their  hearts  swelled  in  praise — 
deep  called  unto  deep — the  deep  grave  of  the 
Egyptians  murmuring  before  them  to  the 
deep  tumult  of  rejoicing  and  of  awe  within 
their  souls ;  and  Moses,  standing  forth  at  their 
head,  gave  voice  to  the  universal  heart  in  his 
memorable  song.  Nothing  simpler,  grander 
than  this  ever  came  from  human  lips.  As, 
inspired  of  God,  the  strain  rose  and  fell 
throughout  the  camp,  drowning  even  the 
long  dash  of  the  sea,  it  celebrated  God's 
might  and  majesty,  it  told  the  tale  of  the 
utter  ruin  of  Pharaoh,  it  triumphed  in  the 
freedom  now  of  Israel,  and  then,  turning  to 

3* 


58  THE    SONG    OF    MOSES. 

the  desert  way  before  them,  in  some  rapid 
lines,  it  pictured  how  the  fame  of  the  Red  Sea 
passage  would,  in  terrifying  report,  go  scat- 
tering the  desert  tribes ;  how  the  great  God 
upon  their  side  would  make  all  their  enemies 
flee  before  them ;  how  He  would  lead  them, 
conquerors,  into  the  good  land ;  and  how,  at 
the  end  of  that  long  way  of  victory,  they 
would  build  Him  a  temple  in  the  holy  mount, 
and  He  would  dwell  in  their  midst  for  ever. 
Such  was  the  song  of  Moses  in  its  swell  of  re- 
joicing; in  the  prophet-glance  he  cast  into 
the  future,  first  hinting  at  the  dangers  that 
were  yet  to  come,  and  then  of  the  final  glories 
of  the  land  of  rest.  We  may  question  whether 
yet  the  slave  hearts  about  him  rose  to  the 
high  startling  ideas  thus  sketched  as  on  a 
background  where  they  could  but  dimly 
see ;  but  certain  it  is,  they  were  one  with 
him  in  the  burst  of  timbrels  and  of  dance, 
wherewith  Moses  and  his  chiefs,  upon  the 
one  hand,  Miriam  and  the  women,  on  the 
other,  sang  the  words,  "Sing  ye  to  the 
Lord,    for   He    hath   triumphed    gloriously: 


THE    SONG    OF    MOSES.  59 

the    horse   and    his    rider  hath   He   thrown 
into   the   sea!" 

Yet,  my  reader,  is  it  not  strange  to  re- 
flect how  passing  was  this  outbreak  of  con- 
fidence in  God?  Deep  and  earnest  it  was 
at  the  moment,  beyond  a  doubt;  and  as- 
suredly, also,  no  greater  stroke  of  power 
and  salvation  could  God  well  have  wrought 
in  behalf  of  that  multitude  than,  in  the 
dividing  of  the  sea.  He  had  just  done.  It 
was  a  deed  to  be  forgotten  never ;  to  be 
as  a  standard  back  in  the  memory,  to  which 
even  the  faintest  coward  might  always  re- 
fer, if  peril  caught  him,  saying,  "  If  in  such 
straits  God  made  me  free,  will  He  not 
much  more  now?"  And,  as  I  say,  for 
the  time,  it  did  make  its  due  impression: 
the  Saviour-God,  in  the  greatness  of  His 
might,  was  brought  home;  and,  in  the 
hour  of  that  splendid  sunrise,  when  the  air 
and  earth  and  sea  were  full  of  Him,  Israel 
OAvned  Him  in  her  heart,  and  her  multi- 
tudinous song  rose  like  the  chant  of  one 
noble   voice.      But,  alas !  the  morning   that 


60  THE    SONG    OF   MOSES. 

had  broken  without  clouds  became  a  changed 
and  lowering  day.  Hardly  was  a  single 
stage  made  in  the  desert-journey,  when  the 
high  spirit  that  had  sung  upon  the  sea 
border  broke  and  fell ;  the  old  mean  life 
swept  up  again  over  the  rising  of  the 
new;  and  we  shall  read  with  amazement 
of  the  people  God  had  led  through  the 
sea  forgetting  that,  forgetting  how  they  had 
struck  their  timbrels  over  it,  and  the  cour- 
age and  anticipation  that  had  been  bred 
in  them  in  a  few  hours  past  and  gone. 
Was  it  not  but  like  the  opening  of  a  veil ; 
the  bright  glimpse  of  one  moment  a  mock- 
ery, and  the  curtain  then  dropped  deeper 
and  heavier  than  ever  ? 

Strange,  however,  as  w^e  deem  the  swift 
recoil  that  ensued  thus ;  from  the  noble 
elevation  of  the  song  of  Moses,  to  the  base- 
ness, afterwards,  of  a  most  irrational  de- 
spondency and  repining  against  God;  we 
ought  to  be  reminded,  nay  reader,  that  it 
is  only  he  who  is  without  sin  amongst  us 
who   can   cast   the    first   stoi^e.      ^or   \\>   13 


THE    SONG    OF    MOSES.'  61 

notorious  that  many,  old  and  experienced  in 
the  way  of  God,  who  have  not  the  raw  igno- 
rance and  the  un  tutor  el  spiritual  state  of  the 
Israelites  to  plead,  yet  drop  the  memory  of 
most  signal  deliverances  of  God  very  quickly 
from  their  hearts.  In  new  trial  they  forget 
the  old  salvation  ;  in  the  shadow  of  a  new  per- 
plexity or  grief  to-day,  they  allow  to  fade  and 
die  the  blessing  and  the  good  hand  of  God 
yesterday.  For  example,  we  suppose  a  pa- 
rent who  has  watched  with  deep  fear  by 
his  child's  sick-bed  when  life  has  just  been 
at  its  last  ebb,  and  the  cry  to  God  has 
been  inarticulate  in  its  brokenness ;  the 
merciful  Physician  has  heard  the  cry,  and 
has  healed  and  restored  the  child  from 
that  lowest  strait ;  is  it  uncommon  for  the 
very  parent  who  has  risen  up,  his  treas- 
ure in  his  arms,  and  blessing  God,  the 
very  next  moment  almost,  when  the  ordi- 
nary wave  of  family  and  other  care  comes 
in  upon  him,  to  allow  the  old  shade  to 
creep  over  his  brow,  the  old  fretting  begin  to 
spoil   his   peice,  and   the  old  anxieties  hurt 


62  'the    song    of    MOSES. 

his  prayers   and   eat  with  distrust  and  mis- 
ery  into   his   very    heart?      Where   is    the 
song    with   which   he    meant  to    praise  God 
for   ever   and   ever  ?     Or,  a  man  escapes  a 
time  of  calamity  by  a  hair's-breadth  of  grace : 
hundreds   suffer   around  him   in  the  loss  of 
means,  or   in   the    sweep   of    pestilence,    or 
in   other   like    sorrow   upon    sorrow :  he,  by 
God's   mercy   is   preserved,  and   all  he  val- 
ues on  earth  is  safe.     Yet,  next  time  there 
is  a   panic,   is   he    fresh   and  strong   in    the 
memory    of    the   past?    or   is   his   fear   not 
up    in   arms,     unreasoning     as    ever,    as    if 
God's   shield   over   him   and  his   had   never 
been?      Or,    at   some   season   we   have   had 
a   happy    spiritual   swell   break  within  us — 
prayers  that  have  carried  us,  as  on  the  wings 
of  eagles,    home   to    God — so   that    with  all 
heaviness  and  fear  dispersed  in  us,  we  have 
been    so   light    and     up  drawn    heavenward, 
that,    with   songs,    our    spirit    has    rejoiced 
in    God  our    Saviour.       But,    a    day   later, 
there   is  some  rapid  sinking   down  to  earth 
again,  the  elasticity  has   run   out,  the  pray- 


THE    SONG    OF    MOSES.     '  63 

ers   are   cold,    and    the   soul    that   burned, 
in    a     new    despondency    feels    like     lead. 
Where   then  is   the  memory   of  our    God? 
where   the  impulse   from   the   song   of  yes- 
terday ?     Is   our  faith   not   speechless,    and 
our   hope   in   the    Blessed   One    lost  ?       In 
short,    we    might    multiply    cases    wherein 
there   is    this   rapid,  I    ought    also     to    say 
shameful,    change  from   light   to    dark,  from 
the   song  to    the   repining,  from  the  ardent 
vow  to  the  memory  blotted  and  gone.      All 
lives  daily  afford  instances.     Not  a  year  or 
stage  do  we  proceed,  but,  glancing  back,  we 
note  the  record  of  God's  mercy,  of  His  extri- 
cating us  from  some  strait,  of  His  making  even 
our  trials  to  give  birth  to  praise.    What  then, 
with  a  conscience,  as  we  must  have,  of  these 
things — what  ought  they  to  be  but  as  pricks 
and  goads   in  the    memory,    stimulating    us 
to   faith    still   in   that   Lord  who    has  never 
failed   His   people,    and   has    never   let   the 
poorest   of  them   perish?      Yet,  put   but   a 
new    cross  upon  our   shoulders,  and  the  old 
deliverances    vanish   from    us   like   a  tablet 


64  THE    SONG   OF   MOSES. 

wiped  out  and  blank,  and  the  untrue  heart 
sighs  in  the  yoke  of  Christ  as  if  He  had 
forgotten   to  be   gracious. 

Truly,  what  a  sad  comment  are  the  lives 
of  many  pilgrims  of  God  thus  on  the  faith 
they  hold ! — their  standing  at  gaze  so  much, 
where  they  ought  to  soar ;  their  dragging 
broken-winged  in  the  dust,  where  they 
ought  to  mount  to  God  with  wings  as  do 
eagles — to  ran  and  not  be  weary,  to  walk 
and  not  be  faint.  How  should  such  an 
inconsistency  ever  be  ?  If  there  is  one  life 
in  all  the  universe  that  should  be  a  life, 
not  of  occasional  bursts  at  points  where 
God  bestows  some  noted  blessing,  (for  that, 
after  all,  is  but  a  poor  merit,)  but  a  life 
of  perpetual  kindling  into  song — a  bow,  as 
it  were,  always  bent — an  arrow  always 
ready  for  the  flight — surely,  surely  it  is 
life  redeemed  in  Christ.  What  deliverance 
can  exceed — what  new  trial  can  ever  cast 
a  shadow  on,  or  need  one  thousandth  part 
of  the  help  again  from  heaven  as  was 
needed   in — the   deliverance   of  the    Cross? 


THE    SONG   OF    MOSES.  65 

Ah,  it  is  here  the  secret  of  the  Christain's 
song  lies,  if  only  he  can  keep  its  deep 
consciousness  alive !  Nothing  so  removes 
one  beyond  and  out  of  the  fluctuations 
of  mere  feeling  and  event,  as  the  soul  con- 
stantly going  forth  as  a  dove,  and  brood- 
ing on  the  Cross.  Let  that  be  the  habit 
of  the  soul  in  all  changes  and  chances, 
and,  whatever  be  the  clouds  sweeping  in 
the  lower  atmosphere,  the  upper  sky  shall 
always  be  the  serene  noonday  of  light.  It 
is  such  a  secret  the  poet  makes  a  graphic 
mention   of  when   he  says — 

"  Who  carry  music  in  tlieir  heart 

Through  dusky  ]ane  and  wrangling  mart, 
Plying  their  daily  task  with  busier  feet, 
Because  their  secret  souls  a  holier  strain  repeat." 

It  was  such  a  secret  that,  like  a  sweet 
under-song,  ran  through  the  vicissitudes 
and  chequered  life  of  Paul,  for  he  never 
lost  the  thought  within'  him,  "If  God 
spared  not  His  own  Son,  but  gave  Him 
up   for  us   all,   shall  He   not  with  Him  also 


€6  THE    SONG    OF    MOSES. 

freely  give  us  all  things?"  The  deliver- 
ance of  the  Cross  given,  what  more  re- 
mained that,  in  the  day  of  emergency, 
would  not  be  given?  The  greater  done, 
would  the  less,  though  a  thousand-fold  re- 
peated, not  follow  ?  So  that  deep  chord 
vibrates  in  the  pilgrim's  heart  yet — so 
much  so,  that  he  weaves  into  its  verse 
even  those  things  that  are  abhorrent  to 
flesh  and  blood:  he  sings  that  he  "glo- 
ries in  infirmities," — that  he  ''rejoices  in 
tribulation," — that  "when  he  is  weak,  then 
he  is  strong."  Who  can  accompany  him 
in  melody  so  strange  as  that  ?  Yet,  like 
chinks  of  light  through  clouds,  such  are 
the  outbursts  of  him,  even  in  his  suffer- 
ing, whose  life  is  hid*  with  Christ  in  God 
— til],  at  last,  what  has  been  so  murmur- 
ing half  in  secret  all  along  his  pathway 
on  earth  gushes  into  light  in  heaven,  the 
soul  no  more  able  to  contain  it;  for  part 
of  the  heavenly  ^picture,  as  if  caught  from 
the  memory  of  the  old  Red  Sea  passage, 
is — "  I   saw    as    it     were   a     sea    of    glass 


THE    SONG    OF    MOSES.  67 

mingled  with  fire;  and  they  that  had  got- 
ten the  victory  over  the  beast,  and  over 
his  image,  and  over  his  mark,  and  over 
the  number  of  his  name,  stand  on  the 
sea  of  glass,  having  the  harps  of  God. 
And  they  siiig  the  song  of  Moses  the  ser- 
vant of  God^  and  the  song  of  the  Lamb  /" 


YI 

W\xt  §ittn*  W^At  mvttt 

The  Israelites  now  fairly  turned  their 
backs  on  Egypt,  and  entered  the  desert 
world.  One  fancies  that,  under  high  impulse, 
their  first  journey  was  performed  with  ease 
and  rapidity  ;  but,  as  the  grateful  sight  of 
the  sea  was  lost,  as  the  way  grew  harder  and 
stonier,  as  the  sun  burned  more  fiercely  from 
the  blue  depths  above  them,  and  the  eyes  of 
the  people,  accustomed  to  the  green  relief 
and  soft  umbrage  of  Goshen,  ached  with  the 
sight  all  round  them  of  arid  plains,  and,  in 
the  distance,  desolate  hills,  languor  crept  over 
the  strongest  energy,  and,  from  song  and 
mirth,  the  march  grew  silent,  gloomy,  faint. 
Water  became  the  universal  craving ;  and 
water,  at  the  end  of  the  third  day,  was  found 
in  a  cluster  of  wells  enough  to  slake  all 
thirst  ;    but,    miserably,   just   as   the   crowd 

6S 


THE    BITTER   MADE    SWEET.  69 

hastened  eagerly  to  drink,  the  water  was  dis- 
covered to  be  brackish,  so  that  the  thirstiest 
loathed  the  draught.  It  w^as  God  interposing, 
as  we  are  told  after,  to  prove  the  temper  of 
the  people,  first,  by  the  burning,  footsore  way 
of  three  days,  and  at  the  close  this  bitter  cup 
to  drink.  But  nobility  of  endurance  under 
God's  good  hand  was  yet  to  be  awakened  in 
this  multitude ;  in  such  extremity  of  dis- 
appointment as  theirs,  only  the  sheer  animal 
want  found  expression  as  the  whole  people 
murmured  against  Moses,  "  What  shall  we 
drink  ?"  God  interposed  again  in  mercy, 
pointing  out  a  tree  to  Moses,  the  wood  of 
which  being  dropped  into  the  water,  the 
bitter  was  made  sweet,  and  the  parched  hosts 
of  Israel,  men  and  cattle,  drank.  Just  when 
the  revulsion  of  their  feelings  must  have 
been  back  into  a  sort  of  gratitude  and  quiet, ' 
God's  message  then  came  to  them,  showing 
them  thus  far  what  His  trial  of  them  meant, 
and  if  now,  taught  by  that  experience,  they 
would  do  and  bear  His  will  steadfastly,  never, 
even  in  the  shelterless  desert,  would  such  dis- 


70  THE   BITTER   MADE    SWEET. 

eases  come  upon  them  as  they  had  seen  the 
green  valley  of  Egypt,  not  only  not  exempt 
from,  but  rife  withal.  What  a  thrill  of  bless- 
ing surely  in  the  words,  as  they  passed  that 
evening  over  the  weary  but  now  sated  hearts, 
"I  am  the  Lord  that  healeth  thee  !"  It  was 
the  blessing  of  .Almighty  God,  ere  they  lay 
down  to  repose  beside  the  sweetened  waters. 
Was  it  an  over-severe  test  to  which  God 
put  the  many  thousands  of  Israel  ?  We 
would  answer,  Yes^  had  it  been  that,  while 
He  tried  them,  He  looked  that  they  should 
stand  fast  in  their  own  grace.  But  we  answer, 
Certainly  not^  when  we  know  that  He  meant 
no  burden  on  them  heavier  than  He  would 
make  them  able  to  bear.  The  sweetening- 
tree  dropped  into  the  waters  is  a  proof  of 
this,  that  God,  with  His  simple  yet  complete 
Saviour  resource,  was  to  stop  them  ere  they 
reached  the  point  of  faintness  and  death. 
Only  He  desired  some  glimmering  of  the 
faith  of  this  to  be  awakened  in  the  difficult, 
bondage-hardened  minds  with  Avhich  He  had 
to  deal ;  and  while,  at  one  point  of  deliver- 


THE    BITTER   MADE    SWEET.  71 

ance,  as  at  tlie  Red  Sea,  to  call  into  play  their 
utterances  of  triumph  and  praise,  (which  was 
comparatively  easy,)  at  another  point  of 
fatigue  and  misery,  such  as  here  in  the  desert, 
to  strike,  if  they  would  but  answer,  other 
keys  also  of  fortitude,  of  faith,  of  manly  per- 
severance in  the  way  of  God.  In  a  word.  He 
would  have  blended  these  responses  out  of 
the  heart  of  Israel  in  one  song — the  deliver- 
ance there,  the  patience  and  sorrow  here — 
for  it  is  true  that 

"God  fulfils  Himself  iu  many  ways  I" 

and,  as  the  pilgrim  of  the  Cross  knows  now 
in  examining  his  path.  He  wdll  make  all  our 
nature  tuneable  as  a  harp  ;  songs  when  we 
are  in  the  day,  songs  also  in  the  night ;  notes 
struck  when  we  rejoice,  notes  equally  of 
praise  when  we  are  in  pain ;  answers  to  the 
finger  of  the  living  God  when  our  cup  of 
blessing  runneth  over,  and  answers  of  an 
unquenched  faith  not  less  when  we  are  in  a 
dry  and  thirsty  land  where  no  water  is.  It  is 
thus  God  explores  the  riches,  the  variety,  the 


72  THE    BITTER    MADE    SWEET. 

harmony  of  the  nature  He  has  given  us,  and, 
in  Christ,  has  redeemed.  He  would  have  it 
all  fully  responding  :  the  joyous  ripple  on 
the  surface,  the  grave  music  of  the  heart- 
wound  beneath.  So  has  the  poor  sufferer,  on 
a  lingering  sickbed,  often  been,  in  spirit,  like 
a  bird  at  heaven's  gates ;  so  has  the  broken 
life  sighed,  even  in  its  death-hour  praise, 
"Unto  Him  Who  hath  loved  us,  and  washed 
us  from  our  sins  in  His  own  blood,  and  hath 
made  us  kings  and  priests  unto  God  and  His 
Father." 

Moreover,  was  the  sweetening-tree  dropped 
into  the  wells  not  a  characteristic  mode  most 
eminently  of  God's  grace  ?  For  it  is  not 
when  we  pray  or  fret  against  our  lot,  that  He 
gives  us  sweet  instead  of  the  bitter,  but  by 
the  dropping  in  of  talismanic  grace  behind, 
He  makes  the  bitter  sweet.  That  is,  if  a  man 
laboring  in  anxious  work,  or  half  broken  by 
the  weight  of  some  personal  distress,  instead 
of  seeking  to  throw  off  these  for  some  state 
softer,  and  to  flesh  and  blood  far  more  agree- 
able, if  he  will  go  on  steadily  and  courage- 


THE    BITTER    MADE    SWEET.  73 

ously,  drinking  God's  cup  deep  enough,  he 
will  pass  the  first  bitterness  and  at  last  come 
to  the  marvellous  ingredient  God  infuses  from 
behind,  making  sweetness  and  exhilaration  in 
the  very  dregs.  So  Paul  exhorts  laborers  in 
the  field  of  Christ,  travellers  in  His  way,  "  not 
to  be  weary  in  well-doing," — not  to  be  over- 
come of  the  first  draught  of  Marah, — "  for,  in 
due  season,"  up  will  gush  the  sweetness  from 
beneath;  ''they  will  reap,  if  they  faint  not." 
And  he  spoke  w^th  authority,  for  he  himself 
had  singular  experience  of  God's  holy  manner 
in  this  respect,  for  he  was  embittered  keenly 
by  what  he  terms  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  against 
the  barb  of  which  he  prayed  three  several 
times,  if  it  might  be  snatched  away ;  but, 
instead  of  healing  up  the  rankling  wound,  it 
is  notable  that  God  preferred  using  the  arrow- 
shaft  that  pierced  His  apostle  as  He  used  the 
tree  at  Marah,  as  a  medium,  along  which  He 
distilled  a  sweetening  grace,  so  that  there 
ran  into  the  suffering  heart  a  life  and  blessed- 
ness far  better  and  infinitely  richer  than  had 

the  wound   been   closed   and   healed.     And 

4 


74  THE    BITTER    MADE    SWEET. 

need  I  remind  you  of  the  example  of  exam- 
ples in  the  garden  agony  of  our  Lord?  As 
He  drank  the  unutterably  bitter  cup,  He 
prayed  thrice  that  it  might  pass  from  Him, 
nevertheless,  since  such  was  not  to  be,  He 
drank  deep  to  the  end,  and  found  then  the 
ineffable  sweetness  flow  in  upon  His  whole 
soul  of  God's  will  done. 

Such  the  gracious  mystery  by  which  God 
couched  the  sweet  beneath  the  bitter.  And 
for  us,  my  reader,  it  is  surely  not  the  mere 
general  assurance  we  need  thus,  that,  sharp 
as  the  appointments  of  our  blessed  Lord  often 
seem  with  us,  if  we  but  hold  on,  at  the  end 
we  shall  find  them  richest  truth  and  mercy. 
No  follower  of  the  Cross  but,  after  a  few 
stages  in  the  w^ay  of  faith,  readily  discovers 
that.  But,  for  us  surely,  there  is  the  deeper 
certainty,  that  goes  before  as  well  as  after 
all  experience,  that  we  have  the  chosen 
tree  of  God,  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  dropped 
behind  into  the  waters  of  our  life  and  soul. 
Who  believes  in  Him — who  has  Him  held 
fast  within,  the  strength  of  his  heart  and  his 


THE    BITTER    MADE    SWEET.  75 

portion  for  ever  ?  That  man  has  a  perpetual 
antidote  against  all  bitterness  and  sorrow. 
Beneath  the  turbid  and  brackish  waves  of 
this  world  flowing  in  upon  him,  he  has  in 
Christ  a  well  of  living  water  springing  up  in 
his  own  soul  unto  everlasting  life  ;  and  the 
clear,  curative  up-gushing  of  the  one  sheds 
back  and  repels  every  moment  the  bitterness 
and  foulness  of  the  other.  Just  as  in  ordi- 
nary circumstances,  if  we  have  some  posses- 
sion or  resource  within  us  we  rejoice  in,  we 
can,  by  retiring  upon  that,  keep  gloom  at 
bay,  or  greatly  temper  some  stroke  of  evil ; 
as,  if  we  have  sacred  in  our  heart  the  love  of 
home  and  hearth,  and  expand  in  secret  over 
our  beloved  treasures  there,  we  can  brave 
misfortune,  we  can  find  the  wheels  of  hard 
labor  sweetened,  we  can  bear  loss  and  much 
suffering  otherwise  with  a  smile;  so,  but  in 
the  highest  degree,  the  soul  possessed  of 
Christ  back  in  the  very  chamber  of  its  life — 
the  Healing  Tree  there  cast  into  its  fountain — 
what  power  can  any  inroad  of  evil  have 
against  it? — what   rush    even  of  the  waves 


76  THE    BITTER    MADE    SWEET. 

and  billows  of  affliction  can  either  hurt  it  or 
destroy  it  ? — fast  as  the  bitter  thing  comes  in, 
is  it  not  changed,  not  only  into  bearableness, 
but  into  very  sweetness  ?  Is  the  Lord  that 
healeth  it  not  in  the  very  midst  ? — does  the 
soul,  so  possessed,  not  hold  the  secret  of  a 
smile,  yea,  a  chastened  rapture,  in  the  cruci- 
ble of  pain  ? — and  is  it  not  from  these  pale, 
parched  lips,  across  which  the  bitter  draught 
is  pouring,  we  expect,  and  are  sure,  to  hear 
the  w^ords,  as  Job  uttered  them,  "  Though  He 
slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him  !"  Oh,  hide 
this  good  Physician  in  the  well-spring  of  thy 
heart ;  let  Him  enter  and  assume  wliole  pos- 
session there  at  any  price ;  let  Him  be  held 
there  by  the  dearest  hold.  From  the  sweet- 
ened Marah  of  thy  life,  thus  shall  thy  song 
then  be : 


"  Give  all  Thou  canst — without  Thee  I  am  poor  ; 
But  with  Thee  rich,  take  what  Thou  wilt  away. 


VII. 

Like  the  light  following  the  shadow,  like 
the  blessing  following  the  trial,  Elim  follows 
Marah.  It  was  one  of  those  spots  that  are 
well  called  desert  islands  ;  because  in  their 
green  freshness,  set  diamond-like  upon  the 
dark  and  barren  bosom  of  the  desert,  they  are 
to  weary  travellers  what  the  anchorage  of  a 
sunlit  island  is  to  the  mariner  in  trackless  seas. 
You  can  understand  how  pleasantly,  in  partic- 
ular, the  sight  was  greeted  by  the  Israelite 
thousands,  as  they  wound  over  the  ungenial 
waste,  and  their  eyes  were  lifted  to  behold 
the  dense  palm-grove,  standing  with  its 
shaggy  stems  and  broad  drooping  crowns,  the 
cool  emerald  grass  beneath,  through  which 
sparkled  from  many  sources  the  gleam  of  run- 
ning water :  for  was  it  not  like  a  section  cut 
out  of  the  far  Egyptian  vales,  like  a  snatch  of 


78         THE    PALMS   AND    SPRINGS    OF    ELIM. 

the  memories  that  in  the  desert  now  were 
brighter  and  keener  than  ever — a  snatch  of  the 
old  beauty  and  fertility  transplanted  suddenly 
into    their  bare   wilderness   path,    and   here 
flashing   in  their    gaze  ?     We    all   know  the 
sentiment  or  feeling  more  or  less,  when,  re- 
viewing years  or  scenes  past,  we  remember 
only  as  sunbright  what  may  have  been  cheq- 
ered  enough  at  the  time,  but  what,  as  it  re- 
cedes from  us,  takes  more  and  more  only  the 
sunny  color,  till,  if  but  one  hour  of  that  bright 
past  could  be  recalled  into  what  we  count  our 
gray  and  sombre  present,  and  lived  by  us 
again,  it  would  stir  our  heart  Avith  deepest 
gladness.     So  with  the  Israelites;  they  had 
forgotten  in  much  the  cruel  bondage — they 
remembered  only  the  green  and  pleasant  Go- 
shen of  the  past — and  here,  in  the  palm-grove 
of  Elim,  was  shred  off,  as  it  were,  a  fragment 
from  the  sunny  land,  and  set  in  their  desert 
track,    that   heart   and  eye    might   greet   it 
eagerly.     And  we  cannot  but  be  struck  with 
the  exceeding  tenderness  of  God's  mercy  in 
the    case.       He  had  tried    the    people    at 


THE   PALMS   AND    SPRINGS   OF    ELIM.  79 

Marah — He  now  relaxed  them  in  pure  rest 
and  enjoyment  at  Elim.     He  unbent  the  bow, 
lest  the  too  long  stretch  should  break  it.     Tie 
lightened    the  burden,  lest  the  neck  should 
fail  under  it;  off  the  chord  of  austere  dealing. 
He  went  on  to  the  key  of  lightness  and  re- 
joicing; from  the  efforts  to  sustain  these  Isra- 
elite   hearts    in    new    earnest    virtues — the 
ground  of  which  they  were  merely  breaking 
up  as  yet — He  receded  for  a  time,  leaving 
them  a  space  to  breathe,  to  sink  into  simple 
enjoyment   and   rest.     In  a  word,   from  the 
wells  of  Marah,  He  led  them  straight  to  the 
springs  and  palm-grove  of  Elim ;  and  as,  un- 
checked, they  scattered  themselves  down  be- 
neath   the   shade,   or  men  and  cattle  drank 
deep  and  long  at  the  upflowing  water,  even- 
ing crept  softly  on  the  scene,  the  air  was  full 
of  the  glory  of  the  sunset,  the  desert  breath 
no  longer  scorched   like  fire,    but  breathed 
spicy  scents :  it  was  a  spectacle  of  God-given 
peace ! 

Perhaps,  from  this  point  of  view,  one  would 
be  disposed  to  say,  "  Why  any  Marahs  at  all  ? 


80       THE  pal:u^s  and  springs  of  elim. 

why  not  one  long  unbroken  string  of  Elims  ? 
Would  the  pilgrims'  way  not  be  purer,  qui- 
eter, happier  ?    Would  the  Israelites  not  have 
rejoiced  in  and  obeyed  God  more,  had  they 
followed  Him  from  one  palm-shaded  spot  to 
another  ?"     We  answer,  No  ;    because,  while 
Marahs  are  not  certainly  the  choice  of  God's 
love   with  any  of  His   children — He  would 
far   rather   stud   their   pilgrimage   for    them 
with  the  Elims  of  his  kindness  and  mercy — 
yet  it   is  perfectly  well  known,  Marahs,  not 
Elims,    are   the   things   most    deeply   suited 
to  the  pilgrim's  heart.     What   was  the  case 
with   Israel  ?     When  a  Marah   happened  in 
the   way,    she    murmured,    it    is    true,    and 
often    exceedingly   provoked   God,    but   ere 
the    controversy    ended,   this    was    the  very 
occasion    of    awakening    some    higher  sense 
of  divine  nobleness  and  reality  in  her  heart ; 
while,    when    a   time    with    nothing   but    a 
chain    of    Elims    ran    along    her    path,  the 
conscience  that   had   been   edged   and  fired 
faded  again,  her   better   life   became   ener- 
vated, and  she  went  idolatrously  after  other 


THE    PALMS    AND    SPRINGS    OF    ELIM.  81 

gods.  In  short,  the  very  commonness  of 
God's  mercy  made  His  mercy  and  Him- 
self forgotten.  And  what  is  the  familiar 
case  with  us?  Give  us  a  stretch  of  Ma- 
rahs,  with  an  Elim  here  and  there  inter- 
spersed, and  though  we  are  embittered, 
are  we  not,  in  the  main,  moved  to  wait 
on,  to  seek  after,  and,  at  the  Elim  spots 
when  they  come,  with  redoubled  zest  and 
praise,  to  rejoice  in,  God ;  but  give  us  for 
years  a  line  of  Elims  only,  and  does  the 
spiritual  fibre  not  grow  weak,  our  thoughts 
of  God  colorless,  and  our  sense  of  Him 
negligent  and  faint?  The  gifts  and  good- 
ness of  God,  in  short,  are  so  utterly  com- 
mon in  such  a  case,  that  their  value  escapes, 
and  although  our  footsteps  teem  with  mercy, 
we  by  and  by  see  it  not.  I  appeal  to 
every-day  experience,  in  which  especially 
there  is  a  quiet  life  of  comfort  going  on 
in  its  quiet  stream— where  is  God,  vividly 
and  from  point  to  point,  traced— where, 
in  any  touch  of  kindness,  from  the  begin- 
ning  to  the  end  of  the  day,  is  God  recog- 


82  THE    PALMS   AND    SPRINGS   OF   ELIM. 

nised — rather  is  His  bounty  not  so  familiar 
and  unbroken  that  the  eye,  looking  at  it 
always,  runs  into  vacancy,  and  sees  it  not  ? 
Hence,  an  Elim  no  longer  is  the  intense  and 
beautiful  and  God-ordained  thing  it  should 
be,  unless  it  have  a  Marah  for  relief  It 
is  as  with  the  gleaming  alabaster  column ; 
place  it  against  a  background  of  its  own 
white  lustre,  and  to  the  dazzled  eye  its 
fair  outline  and  graceful  proportions  are 
dissipated,  so  to  speak,  and  lost ;  but  place 
it  against  a  background  of  shadow,  and 
the  beauteous  thing  stands  out  distinct  as 
a  shaft  of  light.  So,  in  Elims  relieved  only 
against  other  Elims  full  of  the  same  unwa- 
vering mercy,  the  lines  get  intermingled, 
and  the  object,  by  reason  of  excess  of  light, 
fades;  an  Elim  now  and  again,  on  the  con- 
trary, relieved  against  the  austereness  and 
the  sorrow  of  a  Marah,  shines  out  vividly 
upon  us  as  the  fingermark  of  God.  One 
Elim,  isolated  and  relieved  thus,  has  more 
than  the  power  and  value  of  a  thousand 
cgming  on  us  in  a  common  ;*un,     Such  was 


THE    PALMS    AND    SPRINGS    OF    ELIM.  83 

God's  teaching  to  the  pilgrims  of  the  wilder- 
ness of  old.  Such  is  His  holy  and  most 
blessed  manner  with  those  He  leads  in  the 
desert  pathway  now.  A  Marah  depressing, 
and  perhaps  overwhelming  us  now,  an  Elim 
startling  and  rejoicing  us  again  ;  a  deep  sha- 
dow in  our  dwelling  to-day,  a  burnished  beam 
of  light  crossing  it  to-morrow  ;  a  great  grief 
trying  us  and  wearing  us  down  one  season,  a 
sudden  visiting  of  God's  peace  and  mercy 
next  season.  Would  the  mercy  bless  us  half 
so  well,  if  it  had  not  followed  loss  and  sorrow? 
would  the  peace  fall  so  deep,  deep,  if  it  did 
not  fall  into  a  broken  heart?  Yerily  it  is 
God's  way,  and  a  way  of  solemn  mystery,  if 
our  life  is  being  exercised  by  it — swift  change 
from  this  to  that — but  always  so,  when  we 
come  to  understand  God,  that  we  are  taught 
to  endure  our  Marahs  with  patience  and  con- 
fidence, to  hold  our  Elims  with  thanksgiving 
and  fear— in  a  word,  to  sorrow  as  those  who 
will  one  day  rejoice,  and  again  to  rejoice  as 
those  who  may  yet  have  a  day  of  sorrow.  So 
are  we  tempered  in  the  wise  leading  of  our 


84         THE    PALMS    AND    SPRINGS    OF    ELIM. 

God,  till  we  taste  our  last  Marah  here,  and 
reach  our  final  and  eternal  Elim  yonder ;  in 
the  hundred  earthly  Marahs,  "  having  had  fel- 
lowship with  Christ  in  His  suffering  and 
death,"  we  shall  then,  as  we  never  else  would 
have  done,  take  home  to  us  the  vivid  change 
— in  the  Elim  of  heaven,  the  substance,  of 
which  the  brightest  Elim  on  earth  is  but  fore- 
taste and  shadow,  "  we  shall  have  fellowship 
with  Christ  in  his  resurrection  and  glory  !" 


VIII. 
|o0d  fxmx  ^mvtn. 

By  the  short  record  in  the  Book  of  Num- 
bers,   it   appears    the   Israelites    once    again 
touched  on  the  Red  Sea,  after  leaving  Elim. 
They  were  by  this  time  plunged  in  the  con- 
fusion and  sterility  of  the  desert  hills— their 
course  along  one  of  those  broad,  waterless 
river  beds,  or  valleys,  with  which  the  region 
is  everywhere  scored  here,  as  they  painfully 
wended   over  the  stony  soil,  the  way  over- 
shadowed  on   one   side   by  towering   cliffs, 
white  as  marble,  there  by  masses  black  and 
calcined  like  ashes.     Out  of  the   heat,  and 
silence,  and  aridness,  therefore,  glorious  must 
have  been  the  relief,  when,  in  front  of  the 
host,  the  rocks  w^ere  seen  to  part,  and  there 
burst  upon  them  the  sparkling  waters  of  the 
Red  Sea,  with  their  silver  foam  rushing  on 
the  beach.     The  broad  passage-way  seems  to 


86  FOOD    FROM    HEAYEN. 

be  traced  yet  along  the  terraced  slopes,  dip- 
ping now  and  again  to  the  very  wave,  by 
which  the  hordes  of  Israel  wound  in  proces- 
sion. Every  voice  must  have  greeted  the 
sight  of  that  flashing  sea.  And  there,  beyond 
its  other  shore,  in  dim  haze,  were  seen  the 
hills  again,  behind  which  was  hidden  the  land 
of  their  fascination  and  terror.  Strange 
indeed  must  have  been  this  haunting  of  their 
former  state,  as  thus  skirting  slowly,  and 
lingering  by  the  blue  pathway  of  these  mem- 
orable waters,  they  at  length  took  a  last  look, 
and  wheeled  away  again  into  the  shadow  of 
the  wide  wilderness. 

We  can  readily  conceive  how  natural  the 
next  incident  in  their  wondrous  story.  They 
were  traversing  what  is  called  the  Wilderness 
of  Sin — no  doubt  one  of  those  vast  channels 
scooped  by  ancient  river  torrents,  but  now 
dry  as  the  dust  of  summer.  From  the  edge 
of  such  a  valley  rose,  in  savage  bareness  and 
confusion,  hill  on  hill  ;  on  one  crag,  the 
bright  caper  plant,  or  such  like,  creeping ;  in 
other  patches,  dark  green  shrubbery,  weaving 


FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN.  87 

its  color  scantily  on  the  rocks  ;  yonder,  again, 
a  clump  of  dwarf  palms  or  feathery  tamarisks 
nestling  under  a  ledge  ;  but,  stretching  round 
and  above  all,  the  herbless  earth  and  the 
unclad,  desolate  hills ;  these  last,  as  by  shelf 
and  pinnacle  they  ascended  against  the  blue 
sky,  in  some  parts  showing  masses  bright  red, 
in  others  glowing  deeply  purple ;  but  all 
naked  of  a  single  growth  the  vast  multitude 
beneath  them  could  ever  glean  as  food.  What, 
then,  was  the  prospect  of  the  people  ?  These 
straits  they  were  advancing  into  were  deeper 
yet — the  gloom  of  the  mountain  shadows 
deeper  also — and  the  land  evidently  one  of 
silence,  grimness,  famine.  Moreover,  the 
stores  brought  from  Egypt  were  failing,  or 
failed.  Can  we  marvel  that  the  dread  of  find- 
ing this  desert  a  hungry  grave  crept  on  the 
people's  hearts ;  that,  in  contrast  to  the  scene 
around  them,  the  glimpse  they  had  had  of 
the  bright  sea  and  the  shore  beyond  it,  woke 
the  memory  of  the-  fleshpots  of  Egypt,  and 
that,  stimulated  thus,  they  upbraided  Moses 
and  Aaron  with  a  cry  for  food  ? 


88  FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN. 

Perhaps  the  brothers  felt  in  their  own 
hearts  a  shade  of  the  popular  fear ;  it  is  just 
possible;  for  it  was  no  light  matter,  surely, 
for  them  to  lead  those  swarming  columns 
further  in  a  way  so  dark,  without  help.  At 
any  rate,  they  shrank  back,  letting  their  lead- 
ership vanish,  as  it  were,  in  the  leadership  of 
God ;  and  then  it  was  that  Hand  of  Mercy, 
that  had  wrought  such  wonders  for  the 
people  already,  showed  itself  from  behind 
the  veil  once  more.  It  rained  food  from 
heaven.  Quails  and  manna  were  the  forms 
in  which  the  miraculous  supply  came  ;  the 
former,  blown  by  a  strong  wind  from  the  sea 
each  evening  in  such  clouds,  that,  as  they  fell 
out  of  the  darkened  air,  they  are  said  to  have 
covered  the  camp ;  the  latter  showered  each 
morning,  soft  as  the  dewftill,  and  deposited 
like  hoarfrost  upon  the  sands,  so  that  every 
man  going  out  filled  his  homer  from  these 
mysterious  scatterings  of  the  storehouse  of 
God.  Truly,  God's  glory,  as  it  is  said,  was  in 
the  gift ;  for  not  only  was  it  a  striking  scene 
in  the  morning  hour,  as  the  people  went  out 


FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN.  89 

to  glean  in  the  valleys — to  look  up  from  the 
shadows,  and  to  see  the  early  sun  break  on 
the  white  or  red  hill  peaks  far  above,  like  the 
fair  light  of  the  living  God  Himself ;  but  in 
the  scattered  manna  God  made  the  bleak 
desert  teem  with  plenty.  He  was  not  only 
present  with  His  people,  but  He  uncovered 
to  their  eyes  the  very  springs  of  their  feai 
and  life  ;  He  showed  them  that  these  springs 
flowed  direct  from  His  hand  ;  so  that,  whether 
reaping  grown  grain  in  Goshen,  or  picking 
up  manna  rained  in  the  desert,  equally  the 
one  divine  Hand  fed  them  with  food  from 
heaven. 

Does  the  world,  my  reader,  not  need— do 
we,  in  the  cold,  atheistic  moods  that  creep 
over  us,  not  need— to  be  kept  constantly  in 
mind  of  that  direct  Hand  of  God  ?  Let  us 
look  on  the  picture  of  any  one  day  :  Earth, 
air  and  water  bring  us  endless  supplies  ;  com- 
mon mercies,  whereby  we  eat  and  live,  are  so 
common,  that  we  cannot  move  a  step,  if  I 
may  say  so,  without  trampling  on  the  manna- 
shower  about  us.     Yet  how  banished  out  of 

3 


90  FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN. 

this  world  of  thick-springing  mercy  is  the 
Giver  of  it  all!  Instead  of  this  earth  in 
which  we  dwell  being  looked  on  as  a  great 
chamber  filled  with  the  ever-living,  ever- 
working  God ;  its  grains,  its  rush  of  growth 
and  life,  down  to  the  minutest  seed,  shooting 
at  His  touch  ;  its  rich  colors  gleams  from  His 
beauty ;  its  voices  thrillings  from  His  deep 
Spirit ;  how  cold  is  the  veil  an  unbelieving 
or  forgetful  thought  spreads  over  all,  till  we 
see  nothing  but  a  face  of  law,  and  we  snatch 
the  bounties  by  which  we  live,  as  if  behind 
the  screen  there  were  nothing  but  a  blind 
mechanism,  and  no  God.  It  is  surely  shame 
to  our  Christian  teaching,  that,  in  so  element- 
ary a  thing,  we  should  have  to  go  back  to 
the  manna  lesson  of  the  desert.  Take  up 
the  microscope  of  one  who  walks  through 
the  world  with  that  lesson  well  read  in  the 
heart :  in  place  of  the  fixed  law,  and  the 
close-drawn  veil  through  which  the  dull  eye 
sees  all  dim  and  dead,  how  luminous  the  fire, 
how  ever-moving  and  revealed  t:  e  Hand,  that 
break  round  us  on  the  life  of  every  step! 


FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN.  91 

Just  as,  did  you  walk  upon  the  sea  sands,  with 
the  unaided  common  eye,  there  are  thousands 
of  objects  your  feet  crush  that  are  nothing  to 
you  but  as  the  dull  stones  and  earth ;  but, 
furnished  with  the  naturalist's  microscope,  you 
can  take  up  the  shell,  and  see  a  rare  revela- 
tion in  it,  both  of  architecture  and  of  life ; 
or  the  slip  of  weed,  and  find  it  woven  in  its 
fibres,  such  that  no  loveliness  from  earthly 
loom  can  rival.  The  sands,  in  short,  under 
this  new  insight,  are  alive  with  marvels ;  the 
common  path  you  walk  is  carpeted  with 
beauty.  Even  so,  the  microscope  of  that  life 
which  leans  on  God.  It  looks  with  other 
than  a  common  sight.  The  veil  of  common 
dullness  shrivels  from  before  it ;  and,  in  every 
daily  step,  and  daily  good,  it  sees  the  rare 
glory,  and  the  tender  kindness,  and  the  vivid 
doing  of  the  blessed  Hand.  It  is  the  sweet, 
reflective  spirit  of  the  poet,  smitten  by  the 
soft  touch  of  God  in  the  humblest  way  : 

"  To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  doth  give 
Thoughts,  that  do  often  he  too  deep  for  tears." 

But  the  law  by  which  God  bestowed  this 


92  FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN. 

gift  of  manna  was  noticeable  and  peculiar, 
inasmuch  as  no  one  shower  ever  exceeded 
one  day's  supply,  except  on  the  sixth  day, 
when  a  double  quantity  fell  for  a  portion 
against  the  Sabbath  day's  rest.  Accordingly, 
each  Israelite  gathered  his  daily  homer ; 
there  was  always  certainty  of  enough  for 
that ;  but  always  as  rigid  a  certainty  of  no 
more  than  enough  for  that.  If  any  one  tried 
to  store  up  beyond  that  measure,  his  heap, 
from  purity  and  wholesomeness,  was  turned 
into  base  corruption.  So  some  who  made 
the  experiment,  either  out  of  grovelling  cupid- 
ity or  distrust  of  God,  found.  The  glittering 
manna  was  fresh  for  to-day,  but  loathsome  for 
to-morroAv  ;  its  rule  was,  each  day  its  own 
homer — no  less,  but  also  no  more ;  and  pres- 
ently, this  pilgrim  rule  came  into  general 
understanding  through  the  camp.  Each  man, 
as  he  filled  his  manna  dish  each  day,  was 
reminded  it  was  a  pilgrim  meal;  realized 
daily  his  dependence  on  the  all-bounteous 
God;  and  for  forty  years  of  wilderness  life, 
all  Israel  went  forward  on  their  journeys,  fed 


FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN.  93 

with  this  food  from  heaven,  and  breathing, 
with  a  significance  we  have  but  a  faint  con- 
ception of,  that  pilgrim  prayer  we  yet  know 
well,  "  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread !" 

Now,  what  but  this  pilgrim  temper  God 
sought  with  such  elaboration,  yet  simplicity, 
to  nurture  in  the  desert  of  old,  what  but  this 
is  one  of  the  main  and  incessant  aims  of  His 
dealing  with  His  people  yet  ?  The  rule  of 
the  manna — is  it  not  the  invariable  rule  of 
grace  ?  each  day  enough  for  its  necessities, 
but  nought  for  superfluities — this  present 
hour,  its  measure  clear  and  full,  and  to-mor- 
row, hour  by  hour,  its  measure  sure  to  come 
also,  but  never  to-morrow  anticipated  to-day  ? 
If  we  have  the  pilgrim's  staff  in  hand,  and 
are  going  on  in  the  pilgrim  mind,  we  shall 
speedily  and  rejoicingly  discover  this  :  that 
God's  grace  is  sufficient  for  us,  that  it  flows 
in  an  even  and  steady  stream,  never  dropping 
low  to  a  dry  channel,  never  swelling  till  its 
banks  are  burst,  but  each  moment  revolving 
to  us,  sure  as  God  Himself,  with  that  moment's 
cup.     What  would  we   have   more?     Some 


94  FOOD    FROM   HEAVEN. 

unhappy  hearts  there  are  who  cannot  cease 
hurrying  forward  in  an  anxious  anticipation 
into  the  future.  Is  it  sickness  that  is  slowly 
coming  on  them  ? — how  are  they  to  bear  it  ? 
is  their  question.  Are  they  threatened,  or 
have  they  wrought  themselves  into  the  belief 
that  they  are  threatened,  with  some  loss  or 
sorrow  ? — how  are  they  to  withstand  in  the 
evil  day  ?  Are  they  visited  by  the  thought 
of  death  ? — how  are  they  to  die  ?  in  the 
dreadful  hour,  how  will  the  heart  be  held  up  ? 
how  will  the  silver  cord  be  loosened  in  the 
deep  soul  and  let  go  ?  Such  terrors  as  these 
afflict  many  travelling  in  the  way  of  God 
beyond  all  calculation ;  they  would  fain  have 
assurance  or  supply  of  grace  now,  for  the 
hour  of  coming  crisis  then,  like  the  Israelites 
who  would  not  trust  God  in  spite  of  His  own 
words,  but  went  out  to  fill  their  homers  twice 
over,  so  that  they  might  not  only  be  fed 
to-day,  but  be  secure  against  the  morrow 
also.  And  what  but  this  same  un-pilgrim 
temper  accounts  for  the  creeping  habits 
whereby   many   now   are    by   slow    degrees 


FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN.  95 

destroyed  of  this  bitter  world?  For  you 
note  many  such  begin  to  accumulate  money, 
and  the  other  goods  of  this  life,  on  the  plea 
of  a  wise  provision  against  the  future,  and 
that  it  is  right,  further,  to  reap  the  fruits  of 
one's  honest  industry — pleas  there  is  no  dis- 
puting whatever,  so  long  as  that  line,  within 
which  alone  they  are  justified,  is  not  passed ; 
but  the  misfortune  is,  that  the  habit,  growing 
on  a  man,  far  outruns,  by  and  by,  the  pled 
necessities  ;  gold,  comforts,  luxury,  pros- 
perity, are  gathered,  heaped  up,  literally,  in 
some  instances,  piled,  for  their  own  sakes; 
and  instead  of  the  simple  daily  gift  out  of 
God's  hand,  the  soul  turns  in  upon  its  own 
full-fed  state,  and  says,  "  Soul,  take  thine 
ease  ;  thou  hast  much  goods  laid  up  in 
store!"  What  is  the  result?  Simply,  that 
the  manna  accumulation  is  followed  by  the 
manna  curse  ;  either  the  heart,  overlaid  by 
the  accretions  of  its  wealth,  like  wood 
changed  by  certain  mineral  droppings  slowly 
into  stone,  becomes  gradually  of  one  sub- 
stance with  that  wealth — gold  to  gold,  earth 


96  FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN. 

to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust, — or  in 
the  midst  of  its  stored  means,  there  eats  into 
it  the  canker  of  unsatisfied  longing,  or  the 
fire-spot  of  poisonous  care. 

So  God  repeats  the  old  manna  tale ;  and 
when  will  we  as  pilgrims  in  His  pathway,  my 
reader,  learn  the  simple  pilgrim  trust  ?  What 
assurance  dearer,  better,  for  me  than  that  no 
one  moment  will  lack  a  God-given  supply  ? 
I  have  the  morsel  that  is  enough  bestowed  to- 
day ;  but  why  should  I  embitter  its  eating  by 
a  straining  forward  distrustfully  into  the  mor- 
row ?  Suppose  that  the  worst  of  my  fears 
should  in  reality  fall  out,  will  the  proper 
grace  not  flow  forth  to  meet  it  ? — if  I  am  on 
a  sick-bed,  will  a  sick-bed's  grace  not  fall 
upon  my  heart  sufficient  ? — if  I  am  to  be 
struck  with  calamity,  will  a  measure  sufficient 
not  first  break  the  stroke,  and  then  afterwards 
pour  into  and  salve  the  wound  ? — if  I  am  to 
die,  will  dying  grace  sufficient  not  reach  me  ? 
as  the  cold  shade  advances  on  me  one  way, 
the  light  of  Christ's  nearness  advancing  on 
me  the  other  way,  till  the  light  dispels  the 


FOOD    FROM   HEAVEN.  97 

darkness,  and  the  death-pillow  I  feared  is  to 
me  the  Saviour's  breast !  How  intense  the 
simplicity  of  this  pilgrim  lesson — each  day, 
each  hour,  its  own  childlike  trast  in  God  ;  and 
how  good  if,  in  the  Christian  crowd,  it  were, 
even  in  a  measure,  generally  taken  to  heart ! 
How,  over  all  the  tumult  and  distractions,  the 
anxieties  and  the  strife,  with  which  the  move- 
ment of  our  life  goes  on,  this  lesson  would  be 
as  oil  poured  upon  troubled  waters,  as  the 
voice  of  Christ  speaking  in  the  streets  again — 
^*  Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow  ;  for  the 
morrow  shall  take  thought  for  the  things  of 
itself!" 

Walk,  then,  in  the  golden  medium  of  the 
manna  rule.  Distrust  on  this  side  is  rebuked ; 
for,  far  as  your  wants  may  extend,  like  the 
running  of  a  wave  into  some  deep-bosomed 
bay  they  break  at  last  all  round  on  the  shore 
of  God's  love,  and  at  every  point  in  the  meet- 
ing line,  there  is  repeated,  "  My  grace  is  suf- 
Jicient  for  thee!"  And  presumption  on  that 
side  is  rebuked  ;  for,  rushing  into  wilful  situa- 
tions of  difficulty  or  temptation,  or  whatever 


98  FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN. 

it  be,  where  an  overplus  of  grace  is  needed, 
you  will  then  find  that  the  promise  of  suffi- 
ciency— for  it  is  only  sufficiency  God  pledges 
— fails  you,  and  is  gone ;  just  as,  in  what  are 
called  Artesian  wells,  the  principle  is,  that  the 
stream  rises  to  the  level  of  its  source,  and  up 
to  that  mark,  if  you  ascend,  the  crystal  vol- 
ume bubbles  plentifully  out,  but,  if  you  go 
above  that  line,  the  sand  is  dry,  and  the 
stream  is  lost.  So  God  marks  your  life-level. 
Keep  within  its  limits,  and  all  your  well- 
springs  are  aboundingly  in  Him ;  transgress 
beyond  His  way,  and  the  supply  vanishes,  as 
water  does  in  sand.  Thus,  learning  God,  our 
way  fares  on  in  Him  evenly  and  happily — 
each  hour's  lack  having  its  enough  provision 
as  the  hour  comes  round  ;  and  as  we  accept 
this  simple  leaning  on  the  heavenly  grace,  we, 
who  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  have  now  the 
imperishable  bread  of  life,  like  the  Israelites 
with  their  commemorative  pot  of  manna 
placed  in  their  tabernacle  before  God,  we 
shall  be  taught  daily  in  our  prayers  and  our 
praise  to  set  forth  before  Him,  as  it  were,  the 


FOOD    FROM    HEAVEN.  99 

replenislied  vessels  of  our  souls,  saying, 
"  Our  fathers  did  eat  manna  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  are  dead ;  this  is  the  bread  which 
Cometh  down  from  heaven,  that  a  man  may 
eat  thereof  and  not  die!" 

"Lord,  evermore  give  us  this  Bread!" 


IX. 
®ft^  MxtUtx  §0!Ch 

Notwithstanding  that  the  face  of  the  wil- 
derness was  each  morning  whitened  by  the 
fall  of  the  frost-like  manna,  to  the  Israelites  it 
had  no  look  yet  of  kindliness  or  home.  Every 
step  led  them  into  regions  more  desolate  and 
gloomy;  and  the  fear  of  thirst  especially 
grew  into  a  fixed  suffering,  which  went  on 
till,  in  the  burning  aridity  of  all  things  around 
them,  they  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Was  it 
the  case  that  God's  gifts  and  deliverances, 
wonderful  as  they  had  been,  were  destined 
always  to  keep  them  on  the  stretch  of  fear — 
that,  if  He  brought  them  through  the  Red 
Sea,  it  was  to  plunge  them  in  the  depths  of 
the  desert — that,  if  He  rained  manna  on  them 
for  food,  it  was  to  make  the  want  of  water 
kindle  in  them  a  raging  thirst  ?  Were  they 
to   obtain  their  life  and  sustenance  thus  only 

100 


THE    SMITTEN    ROCK.  101 

in  tantalising  fragments  ? — soon  as  God  had 
done  a  deed  of  relief  for  tbe.P,  was  He  to 
retire  into  silence  and  remoteness,  till  they 
importuned  Him  wildly  for  something  else  ? 
In  a  word,  was  He  dwelling  with  them,  or 
was  He  not?  Such,  you  may  conjecture, 
were  the  surmises  floating  through  the  camp ; 
and  all  the  more  encouraged  that  the  route 
the  people  traversed  lay  continually  along 
those  river-beds  we  have  spoken  of,  the  very 
sight  of  which  suggested  the  old  rush  of 
water — here,  by  the  deep-worn  ruts — there,  by 
a  side  cleft  in  the  rocks,  where  a  hill  stream 
had  poured  into  the  main  current — and  then 
again,  by  the  fringes  of  shrubbery  which  grew 
along  the  bank,  their  branches  in  such  wise 
that  they  might  have  been  dipping  into  the 
stream.  But  the  stream  was  vanished,  the 
river-bed  was  dry,  and  instead  of  giving  wa- 
ter to  the  lips,  its  very  parchedness  every- 
where, through  the  torture  of  contrast,  drank 
the  pilgrim's  spirit  up. 

Hence  the  murmur  of  the  weary  Israelites 
ao^ainst  Moses   cauo^ht   this  time  the   added 


102  THE    SMITTEN    ROCK. 

ferocity  of  thirst ;  and,  forgetful  of  the  mer- 
cies of  their  God,  the  fire  of  their  misery  and 
fear  broke  out  in  threats  as  well  as  in  re- 
proach. It  was  a  daring  temptation  of  the 
Most  High  God ;  yet  Moses  turned  to  Him 
with  the  complaint,  as  something  not  alto- 
gether unworthy  of  pity  ;  and  accordingly 
the  Lord,  in  silent  patience,  withdrew  Moses 
and  the  elders  of  the  people  with  him  into  a 
deeper  winding  of  the  valley,  he  with  the  rod 
that  had  smitten  the  Nile  to  smite  a  selected 
rock,  they  to  be  the  witnesses  of  God's  mira- 
cle in  the  stroke ;  and  then,  in  the  veiled  re- 
cess, as  the  cloud  of  Divine  presence  settled 
on  it,  the  touch  was  given  to  the  stony  mass 
— one  moment  its  granite  face  was  cold  and 
hard — next,  it  had  broken  in  twain,  and  giv- 
en from  its  breast  a  leaping  waterflood.  The 
dell  woke  to  the  unwonted  music  as  the 
stream  dashed  abroad,  as  it  found  a  course  in 
the  old  dried  water-mark,  as  it  broke  upon 
the  eager  sands,  as  the  drooping  bushes  quiv- 
ered in  its  sparkle  into  new  life — and  as  finally, 
bursting  into  the  open  plain,  it  came,  broad 


THE    SMITTEN    ROCK.  103 

and  cool  and  delicious,  on  the  gaze  of  all  the 
camp;  and  the  men  and  women  and  little 
ones,  with  their  jaded  cattle,  hurried  to  its 
banks,  stood  in  its  rushing  wave,  and,  in  that 
full  tide  of  God's  mercy,  quenched  their  thirst 
deep  and  long.  Still  the  smitten  rock  under 
Horeb  poured  its  volume,  and  still  the  pil- 
grim hordes  drank.  Surely,  as  the  fiery  faint- 
ness  and  thirst  went  off  their  souls,  and  went 
off  the  wa^te,  there  was,  deep  in  each  heart, 
the  rock  of  hard  ingratitude  broken,  and  the 
gush  of  penitence  and  praise  flowing  forth. 

So,  is  it  not  always  seen  that  the  sealed 
fountain  breaks  not  forth  till  the  rock  be  bro- 
ken ?  The  face  of  the  rock  in  Horeb  was  un- 
wetted  by  a  single  drop  of  moisture — it  was 
silent  and  arid  in  its  strong  seat — till  the  rod 
of  Moses  broke  it,  and  the  waters  rushed  then 
unrestrainedly  into  day.  The  heart  never 
yields  its  deepest  outflow  to  God  till,  simi- 
larly, it  is  smitten,  and  its  hardness  rent.  We 
have  hundreds  of  examples  not  far  to  seek. 
What  is  first  conversion  unto  God,  but  such 
an  unsealing  of  the  stony  heart  ? — cold,  silent, 


104  THE    SMITTEN    ROCK. 

barren  the  one  while,  in  its  natural  state ;  but 
again  smitten  by  the  Spirit  of  power,  and,  at 
His  touch,  penitence  and  faith,  and  love  and 
rejoicing  and  prayer,  gushing  from  the  broken 
heart  into  light.     Paul  was  touched  in  such  a 
way  when  he  fell  on  the  Damascus  road,  and 
his  fierce  spirit,  melted  within  him,  poured 
itself  out  ever  after  in  a  shining  stream  of 
ministry   for   Christ.     What   again   is  God's 
touch  of  affliction,  or  of  sharp  privation,  or 
of  keen  personal  chastisement,  or  of  such  trial 
as  goes  quivering  like  a  lancet  of  fire  into  the 
last  nerve  and  tenderness  of  the  soul — but  as 
the  touch  of  the  rod  of  Moses,  light  upon  the 
calm  and  stony  surface  of  our  ordinary  life, 
but  having  power  to  dissolve  it  to  its  last  hid- 
den depth,  and  to  extract  its  burst  of  suppli- 
cation and  its  surrender  of  itself  in  helpless- 
ness to  God  ?     My  reader,  we  may  thank  God 
ardently  when  He  deals  with  us  so.     If  our 
lives  went  on  as  those  of  many  do,  in  perfect 
worldly  calm — never  pierced  or  sounded  be- 
yond the  inch-depth  of  sentiment  and  quiet 
feeling  and  quiet  intercourse  that  serve  us  well 


THE    SMITTEN    ROCK.  105 

enough  in  ordinary  clays,  and  that  keep  society 
in  its  comfortable  round — there  would  remain, 
alas,  in  the  deep  centre  of  each  life  the  unbro- 
ken rock,  the  dead  and  voiceless  soul.  We 
should  never  ourselves  know  the  soul's  power 
of  response  to  God.  An  occasional  movement 
to  pity  or  to  tears  in  the  world  would  not  tell 
us — neither  would  the  flicker  of  a  stray  emo- 
tion, such  as  we  are  all  thrilled  by  now  and  then, 
waken  in  us  its  awful  speech.  No,  it  needs  the 
deep  of  God's  meaning  to  call  to  the  deep  of 
our  dormant  soul — the  rod  to  smite  us — the 
iron  to  enter — and  then,  although  it  be  terrible 
in  the  day  of  our  affliction,  the  breaking  up  of 
our  peace,  and  the  movement  of  our  grief  and 
trouble  be,  as  David  cries,  like  the  very  "  pains 
of  hell ;"  yet  it  is  the  fountain  from  its  hidden 
plaoe  called  forth  at  last — the  silent  voice 
finding  vent — the  life  revealed,  conjured  out, 
and  in  all  its  height  and  depth  of  prayer 
uttering  itself  to  God.  Is  it  not  infinitely 
better  so,  than  that  it  should  go  silent  as  the 
stone,  unconverted,  unbroken,  to  the  grave  ? 
Such  a  soul  way  have  a  capacity  of  life  for 


106  THE    SMITTON    ROCK. 

God,  but  that  has  never  flashed  into  action ; 
it  may  have  a  power  of  prayer  in  it,  but  that 
has  never  come  to  light ;  it  may  have  possi- 
bilities of  earnestness  and  faith  in  it,  second 
to  none,  but  these  are  restrained  and  dumb : 
and  what  profit  hath  the  natural  heart  thus,  if, 
stone-still,  it  goes  to  the  dead  as  it  has  lived  ? 
Its  money  perishes  with  it — its  heart-springs, 
unopened  in  life,  have  the  rock  sealed  on 
them  for  ever.  Whereas  God's  secret  is  with 
the  broken  heart :  He  tries  it  and  proves  it, 
that  He  may  see  what  is  in  it — that  it  may 
open  at  His  touch — that  it  may  yield  its  deep 
outgushing  at  his  feet.  Who  would  not  choose 
that  yielding  of  the  soul  to  God,  even  at 
a  greater  cost  ?  Terrible  may  be  the  rend- 
ing of  the  rock,  but  in  the  yielding  of  its  life 
then,  as  face  answer eth  face  in  water,  so,  in  its 
lucent  Avave,  God  sees  ivliat  is  in  it — He  meets 
there  the  image  of  His  own  grace  and  love ! 

But  under  the  shadow  of  the  rock  in 
Horeb,  we  must  learn  greater  things  still. 
St.  Paul  gives  us  his  holy  authority  for  it, 
that  "  that  Rock  was  Christ."    And  accepting 


THE    SMITTEN    ROCK.  107 

this  high  reality  accordingly — through  the 
dim  sign  of  the  desert  looking,  till  there 
grows  out  upon  us  the  luminous  and  awfal 
Christ — who  ever  won,  we  ask,  to  the  pro- 
foundest  understanding  and  life  of  Him,  save 
through  the  Rock  smitten  and  cleft  in  twain  ? 
For  example,  about  our  adorable  Lord  in  His 
ministry  and  work,  there  were  and  are  many 
things  easij  to  be  understood  ;  the  wisdom 
with  which  He  spake  as  never  man  spake ; 
the  dignity,  the  holiness  that  clothed  Him  ; 
the  glory  which  He  had  in  heaven,  and  whose 
clouds  in  half- veiled  radiance  followed  Him 
on  earth,  and  the  glory  which  He  noiv  has  in 
heaven  again;  these,  and  such  like  things, 
exalting,  and,  as  with  colors  of  light,  setting 
themselves  into  the  portrait  of  One  who  is 
our  Saviour  and  God,  we  find  easy  to  be 
understood ;  they  commend  themselves  to  the 
apprehension  of  our  intellect;  they  accord 
with  our  preconceptions  of  what  Christ  ought 
to  be;  they  are  a  track  so  obvious,  that,  so 
long  as  He  is  in  this  aspect  before  us,  we 
readilv  can   follow.     But   when   the   leaf  is 


108  THE   SMITTEN    KOCK. 

turned,  and  we  meet  the  transcript  of  dark- 
ness and  humiliation  and  sorrow  and  death  on 
the  other  side  ;  when  we  must  follow  Jesus 
in  His  human  privations  and  pain ;  stand  near 
Ilim  in  His  tears ;  catch  some  outbreak  from 
His  agony  of  soul ;  and  trace  Him  finally 
through  smiting,  scourging,  insult,  the  very 
dust,  till,  beneath  the  tree,  the  billows  of  His 
sorrow  roll  on  us,  and  we  hear  the  nails 
driven,  and  we  see  Him  die  ;  ah,  then  the 
hardness  of  the  mighty  problem  staggers  us. 
The  other  aspect  vfas  that  of  the  strong,  calm 
rock ;  this  aspect  of  humiliation  and  death  is 
the  rock  broken  from  the  top  throughout. 
How  can  we  understand  here  ?  Intellect 
shrinks  and  rebels  against  the  problem,  as  the 
many  theories  and  questions  of  our  own  day, 
whereby  the  death  of  the  crucified  Christ  is 
either  pitiably  made  what  it  was  not,  or  is  as 
pitiably  dwindled  into  nothing,  prove.  Pride 
of  mind  and  learning,  prejudice  of  foregone 
conclusions,  our  own  life  and  tone  in  the 
world,  on  the  mass  of  which,  if  we  let  down 
the  Cross,  it  would  burn  like  fire ;  all  these 


THE    SMITTEN    ROCK.  109 

hold  US  at  the  threshold  of  the  Smitten  Rock ; 
they  blind  the  eyes  that  they  cannot  see ; 
they  preoccupy  and  materialize  the  heart  that 
it  cannot  understand  ;  so  that,  to  many,  many 
practically,  the  crucified  Christ  is  less  a  reality 
than  some  exploded  fable.  Yet  where  the 
heart  can  be  stripped  down  into  very  lowli- 
ness of  faith  ;  where  the  furnace  of  amazed 
doubts  and  scepticisms  can  be  passed  through, 
without  the  soul  perishing  in  the  passage; 
where  the  life,  humbled  and  changed,  can  be 
brought  as  a  little  child  to  God;  there,  at 
that  cost,  the  Smitten  Rock  in  its  awfulness 
is  revealed ;  the  gateway  of  it  is  entered,  and 
there  are  found  the  deep,  otherwise  unsearch- 
able riches  of  Christ  flowing  up  evermore. 
The  last  reserved  spring  of  God's  love  is  here 
unsealed.  The  exaltation  and  the  throne  are 
calm  in  their  face  as  the  solid  rock ;  but  the 
humiliation  and  the  cross,  in  their  pierced 
bosom,  gush  with  hid  treasure,  and  the 
believing  soul,  drinking  eagerly,  exclaims, 
''  This  is  spirit,  this  is  life  !" 

Only  then  through  the  body  broken  and 


110  THE    SMITTEN    ROCK. 

the  blood  shed  is  the  hidden  life  of  Him  Who 
is  our  Saviour  and  our  God  reached.  Thomas 
was  a  memorable  instance  of  what  all,  arriv- 
ing at  the  pierced  heart  of  Christ  through  a 
painful  quest,  have  been.  He  could  see  the 
outer  shape  and  features  well  enough  ;  but  it 
was  the  wounds  of  the  Smitten  Rock  he 
sought — the  marks  of  the  nails  in  the  hands 
and  feet,  and  the  mark  of  the  spear  in  the 
side — and  not  till  he  had  thrust  his  finger  into 
these,  not  till  he  had,  so  to  speak,  entered  by 
the  door  of  agony  and  shame  and  death  over 
again — the  rent  veil  of  the  Redeemer's  flesh — 
did  he  sink  down,  thrilled  through  by  the 
power  of  Jesus,  and  exclaiming,  ''  My  Lord 
and  my  God!"  A  search  up  to  that  point 
sorrowful  and  bitter ;  but  from  that  point  a 
burning  apostleship,  a  soul  knit  to  Christ,  a 
life  charged  with  the  quick  current  of  His 
grace.  So  with  the  seekers  after  Christ  still. 
If  we  would  find  Him  in  His  inner  chambers 
where  He  dwells,  strait  is  the  gate,  narrow  is 
the  way;  we  must  find  Him  through  the 
rock  rent   and  the  graves  opened ;  the  old 


THE    SMITTEN    ROCK.  Ill 

must  crumble  round  us,  the  whole  world  of 
cherished  things  must  perish ;  and  then, 
through  this  heart-revolution,  Christ  is  won ; 
the  wounds  we  dared  to  search  stream  with 
life ;  the  riven  rock  we  dared  to  enter  gushes 
with  the  streams  of  Go-d.  Oh,  the  glad  dis- 
covery of  Christ  thus  in  the  dry  and  thirsty- 
world  !  Strait  is  the  gate  and  narrow  is  the 
way,  it  is  true ;  but  after  the  discovery,  one 
of  the  great  apparent  contradictions  of  grace 
begins  to  take  effect.  "  Take  My  yoke  upon 
you,"  says  Christ;  "  for  My  yoke  is  easy  and 
My  burden  is  light."  Just  as  with  Thomas! 
Dark  the  preface,  bright  the  volume  ;  hard 
the  entrance,  blessed  the  interior  rest ;  terri- 
ble the  smiting  of  the  stone,  glorious  its 
upleaping  wave.  Did  not  the  Israelites  drink 
and  lave  themselves,  and  drink  and  lave 
themselves  again  ?  So  you  have  heard  of  the 
patient  tossing  in  fever,  and  in  his  dreams  of 
fire  longing  that  he  could  lay  himself  down 
in  the  bed  of  some  flowing  stream,  that  the 
cold  wave  might  flow  for  ever  above  his 
head.     Who  knows  not,  that,  in  the  hot  fever 


112  THE    SMITTEN    ROCK. 

of  sin  and  of  the  world,  this  is  realized,  when 
the  Rock,  which  is  Christ,  is  reached,  when 
the  soul,  having  no  rest  hitherto,  flees  into 
His  wounds,  o>nd  the  river  of  the  water  of 
life  pours  deliciously  on  its  fire  and  thirst  ? 
Or  you  have  heard  of  the  deceived  wayfarer 
in  the  desert  hastening  after  the  mirage,  with 
visions  of  a  cool  rippling  water  in  his  eye, 
that,  as  he  nears  the  spot,  fade  into  the 
treacherous  sand  and  are  gone.  Who  knows 
not,  again,  that  these  visions  are  indeed  real- 
ised when,  out  of  the  falsity  and  vanity  of 
life,  the  soul  that  betakes  itself  to  Christ  finds 
the  true  desert  stream ;  in  Him  a  repayment 
for  the  long  way  and  the  hard  fare ;  a  moment 
of  deception,  never ;  so  that,  as  the  wearied 
feet  bathe,  as  the  hands  catch  drops  from  the 
flowing  rock,  as  the  head  has  its  cold  baptism 
poured  upon  it,  as  the  lips  drink  and  drink 
again,  the  refreshed,  the  rejoicing,  the  utterly 
satisfied  life  breaks  out  in  this  way  of  yet 
deeper  craving : 

"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  1 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee  I" 


©tt  the  ftill,  aurt  iw  t\x^  ^Mn. 

It  was  just  beyond  the  shower  of  manna, 
and  the  stream  from  the  rock,  that  God 
deemed  the  Israelites  capable  of  the  first 
forth-putting  of  a  new  virtue.  He  had  struck 
on  several  keys  in  the  Hebrew  heart  since  the 
flight  from  Egypt ;  but  this  new  key  of  cour- 
age in  battle  He  had,  as  we  have  seen, 
refrained  from  strikino; ;  He  had  turned  the 
multitude  aside  rather  from  the  short  way  to 
Canaan,  knowing  that  the  last  thing  the 
timorous  slave-mind  could  bear  was  to  see 
war.  Now,  however,  they  were  well  on  in 
the  solemn  pathway ;  the  hardships  they  had 
passed  had  given  them  sinew  ;  the  greater 
events  and  the  dangers  yet  to  come  demanded 
sinew  stronger  still ;  wherefore,  at  this  point, 
when  they  were  hurrying  through  the  broad 
vale  of  Rephidim,  God  saw  fit  to  touch  the 

113 


114         ON    THE    HILL,  AND    IN    THE    PLAIN. 

key  that  had  hitherto  slept,  and  the  note  of 
battle  sounded. 

The  first  foes  were  the  Amalekites,  a  fierce 
Bedomn  tribe,  whose  strongholds  were  the 
elifis  and  hills  lying  to  the  north  of  the  pass 
through  which  the  Israelites  were  making 
way.  Scattered  about  the  heads  of  that  pass 
were  thick  groves,  it  is  supposed,  of  palms 
and  tamarisks,  beneath  the  soft  gloom  of 
which  many  springs  oozed  through  moss  and 
rushes,  making  the  region,  in  the  heart  of 
surroundings  so  scathed  and  sterile,  a  scene 
unusually  green.  No  wonder,  therefore,  if 
the  desert  tribes  claimed  it  as  their  choice 
resort,  and  if  the  sight  of  the  swarming 
intruders  kindled  them  with  alarm  and  fury. 
Accordingly,  these  men  of  Amalek,  dropping 
from  their  heights,  assailed  the  rear  ranks  of 
Israel,  where  the  weary  and  the  footsore 
received  the  shock  first.  But  the  energy  of 
Moses  speedily  redeemed  the  time.  To  meet 
the  assault,  he  pushed  back  a  picked  band 
under  the  brave  leadership  of  Joshua ;  and 
while  they,  in  compact  and  stern  order,  moved 


ON    THE    HILL,  AND    IN    THE    PLAIN.  115 

on  the  plain,  he  himself,  with  Aaron  and  Hur, 
climbed  the  watch-tower  of  one  of  those 
rocky  battlements  girdling  the  valley  and 
rising  in  their  dark  red  mass  sheer  from  the 
plain  level.  There  he  posted  himself,  the  rod 
of  God,  as  a  banner  to  the  people,  in  his 
hand.  We  read  in  the  experiments  of  science 
of  the  rod  used,  whereby,  as  it  points  upward, 
the  stream  of  electric  fire  is  drawn  from  the 
cloud.  So  this  rod  of  Moses,  so  celebrated 
to  the  people  now — the  rod  that  had  charmed 
the  Nile,  the  rod  that  had  divided  the  sea, 
the  rod  that  had  smitten  the  rock — was 
uplifted  again  in  the  hand  of  God's  servant, 
and,  while  he,  as  mediator  for  Israel,  prayed 
and  held  it  pointed  as  his  sign  God-ward,  it 
became  a  conductor  drawing  fire  from 
heaven ;  by  its  stem  the  flame  of  power 
streamed  to  the  warriors  beneath ;  so  that,  as 
the  rod  was  held  strong  and  straight,  Israel 
prevailed ;  as  the  hands  of  Moses  grew  heavy 
and  the  rod  drooped,  Israel  gave  back,  and 
Amalek  prevailed.  What  a  deep  interest  on 
that  grand  picture!      All  the  hill  sides  and 


116  ON    THE    HILL,  AND    IN    THE    PLAIN. 

vantage  points  in  the  background  covered 
with  the  onlooking  thousands;  in  the  plain 
the  gleaming  battle,  half  hidden  by  its  dust, 
turning  now  this  way,  now  that ;  and  on  the 
foreground  crag  above,  the  figure  of  Moses 
like  a  mighty  seer,  his  rod  held  to  heaven. 
True,  his  strength  gave  way,  and  the  staff 
wavered ;  but  his  kinsmen  first  propped  him 
with  a  seat  of  stone,  and  then  on  both  sides 
upheld  his  hands,  and  there,  tremulous,  but 
steady,  in  the  red  flush  of  sunset,  were  seen 
the  raised  brow  and  the  pleading  figure  and 
the  shining  banner  of  God,  so  that  we  can 
imagine  how  the  irrepressible  shout  of  all 
Israel  rang  out  at  last,  and  the  Amalekites 
were  scattered.  Moses  on  the  hill  and  Joshua 
in  the  plain — each  looking  to  the  other — as 
the  latter  fought,  the  former  invoked  God, 
and  the  latter,  through  the  former,  receiving 
down  Divine  power  to  rest  upon  him  ;  thus 
had  these  two  gotten  them  the  victory. 

You  would  say  that  each  of  these  leaders 
had  his  noble  function,  the  one  distinct  from 
the  other,  yet  botli  combined  to  work  out  the 


ON    THE    HILL,  AND    IN    THE    PLAIN.  117 

purposes  of  the  Most  High.  Moses  was  not 
for  battle ;  Joshua  was  not  for  prayer  and  for 
holding  the  upraised  staff  of  God ;  each 
could  not  take  the  other's  place  ;  but  each  in 
his  own  place  wrought  with  the  other  for  this 
common  achievement  of  the  Amalekites' 
defeat.  Just  as,  in  like  manner,  the  states- 
man's place  is  in  the  cabinet,  the  general's  in 
the  field — they  cannot  exchange  or  usurp 
one  another's  functions;  but,  putting  forth 
each  his  own  talent,  they  co-operate  in  some 
one  great  national  deed.  Or  as  the  thinker's 
post  is  his  closet,  that  of  the  practical  man 
of  science  is  in  the  workshop ;  they  would 
make  dire  helplessness  and  confusion  if  they 
changed  places;  but  the  thought  and  the 
action  going  together  in  their  respective 
departments,  they  bring  glorious  inventions 
into  light.  So  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  there 
is  the  Spirit  still  saying  as  of  old,  "  Sejparate 
me  Paul  and  Barnabas!"  Each  man  has  his 
distinct  work  apportioned:  here  a  stout 
hearted  missionary  to  brave  a  life  of  vicissi- 
tude and  peril ;  there  a  quiet  saint  to  be  the 


118         ON   THE   HILL,  AND   IN   THE   PLAIN. 

light  of  his  own  and  half-a-dozen  neighboring 
families  at  home;  here  one  to  dip  deep  into  the 
secluded  study  of  God's  Word ;  there  another, 
through  his  wealth,  or  energy,  or  public  turn, 
to  carry  out  that  Word  in  practical  power ; 
here  a  preacher  with  the  golden  tongue  of 
eloquence  to  stir  crowds  ;  there  the  poor 
heart  in  its  voiceless  retirement,  or  the  sufferer 
on  his  sick-bed,  to  breathe  apart  the  longing 
and  the  ardency  of  prayer.  Such  is  God's 
happy  arrangement,  by  which  the  meanest  as 
well  as  the  loftiest  talent  finds  its  spot  and 
work ;  each  cannot  pass  from  its  own  position 
to  the  other's ;  each  need  never  envy  or 
despise  the  other ;  for,  assigned  their  several 
parts  by  God  Himself,  some  on  the  hill  top, 
some  on  the  plain,  they  are  all  honorable  alike 
before  Him ;  they  are  all  stones  alike  in  the 
great  breakwater,  whereby  God  arrests  the 
kingdom  of  the  wicked  one,  and  makes  way 
on  the  earth  for  that  kingdom  of  victory, 
*'  which  is  righteousness,  peace,  joy  in  the 
Holy  Ghost." 

But  the   question  may  arise,  Who  of  the 


ON    THE    HILL,    AND    IN    THE    PLAIN.        119 

two,  Moses  on  the  hill,  or  Joshua  in  the  plain, 
represented,  if  I  may  say  so,  the  mightier 
power  of  God  ?  We  usually  assign  the  greater 
honor  to  the  man  of  fearless  action  ;  not  to 
the  Moses  looking  on  from  a  distance,  even 
though  he  may  have  sketched  the  plan  of 
battle,  but  to  the  heroic  Joshua  grappling  in 
the  conflict  hand  to  hand.  Yet  of  these  two 
forces  there  is  not  a  doubt  God  raised  the  for- 
mer at  Rephidim  into  higher  conspicuousness 
than  the  other.  For  Moses  had  the  weight  of 
the  whole  day's  crisis  in  his  heart.  On  his 
rocky  platform  he  stood  high  and  in  direct 
communication  with  God.  There  Avas  the 
glow  of  an  impassioned  attitude  and  grandeur 
round  him.  He  clasped  the  banner  of  the 
Lord;  his  arms,  as  they  rose  or  fell — ^his  prayer, 
as  it  swelled  or  died — moved  either  victory 
or  defeat;  and  finally,  as  he  was  helped  to 
lay  a  steady  grasp  on  heaven,  the  Israelites 
drove  their  enemies  in  flight.  I  say,  there- 
fore, that  of  the  two  forces,  Moses  and  Joshua, 
prayer  and  action,  while  each  was  essential  to 
the  other,  and  each  had  its  own  noble  honor, 


120       ON   THE    HILL,    AND    IN    THE    PLAIN. 

the  former  at  Rephidim  was  made  pre-emi- 
nent. And  so  in  the  labors  and  conflicts  of 
the  Church  of  Christ :  it  has  not  been  so 
much  those  who  have  been  in  the  heat  and 
burden  of  the  day,  illustrious  as  are  their 
names  and  deeds,  and  their  work  such,  that 
without  it  God's  kingdom  must  have  been 
stayed ;  still  it  has  not  been  so  much  these  on 
whom  God  has  hung  the  weight  of  His 
mighty  issues,  as  on  the  far  less  known  watch- 
ers on  the  towers  of  Zion- — the  saints  who  from 
beneath  the  altar  have  unceasingly  cried, 
*'  How  long,  0  Lord,  holy  and  true" — the 
souls  that  have  been  oppressed  for  Christ's 
coming — the  men  of  prayer  and  of  deep  holy 
thought,  and  of  familiarity  with  Heaven,  who 
have  kept  the  doors  open  between  this  world 
below  and  that  world  above,  and  have  been 
in  that  way  as  conductors  of  the  heavenly 
grace,  bringing  it  down  on  the  Church,  and  on 
the  cause  of  good  against  evil,  as  "rain  on 
the  mown  grass,  and  as  showers  that  water 
the  earth."  Shall  we  ever  know  the  vast  pro- 
portion of  power  and  result  that  have  so  de- 


ON   THE    HILL,    AND    IN   THE    PLAIN.        121 

scended  to  us  on  the  plain,  from  the  silent 
veiled  hill-tops  of  prayer  ?  Suppose,  at  this 
moment,  the  veil  thrust  back,  and  all  those 
who  bow  the  knee  at  the  blessed  Name,  and 
what  they  do,  revealed  to  us;  how  litth 
would  the  hurry  and  the  power  put  forth  in 
the  arena  of  the  Church's  public  activity  ap- 
pear!— how  grand  the  power  exercised  from 
closets,  and  from  sick-pallets,  and  from  the 
high  spots  of  prayer!  And  is  this  not  so 
specially,  that  not  only  the  poor  and  the  soli- 
tary and  the  feeble  and  the  sorrowful,  may 
ail  take  home,  that,  in  their  very  helplessness, 
if  they  but  '^  pray  without  ceasing,"  they  be- 
come channels  to  the  great  Church,  of  God's 
richest  power?  But  is  it  not  so  specially  to 
check  the  strong  and  full-blooded  and  ener- 
getic in  the  tendency  there  always  is  in  the 
world  to  lean  to  action  more  than  prayer — to 
check  those  who  allow  a  kind  of  recluse  place 
to  prayer,  but  who  make  by  far  the  most  im- 
portant business  to  consist  in  the  stir  of  work 
— who,  while  they  pray,  feel  its  ef&cacy  no- 
thing,   but  while  they  da  somewhat — spend 


122        ON    THE   HILL,    AND    IN    THE    PLAIN. 

money,  preach,  visit  the  sick  and  poor,  or- 
ganise schemes  and  efforts,  feel  that  these  are 
all  in  all  ?  God  would  rebuke  that  spirit,  and 
teach  that  the  nobler  force  of  the  two,  after 
all,  is  prayer :  that,  not  only  in  the  Church  at 
large,  but  in  each  soul,  it  is  the  force  nearer 
heaven — ^it  is  the  side  which  receives  light, 
without  which  the  other  side  of  action  is  con- 
fused and  dark ;  it  is  the  side  which  is  suf- 
fused with  grace,  without  which  the  other 
side  of  action  labors  unanointed  and  poor  ;  it 
is  the  side  of  fire  from  God,  without  which 
the  other  side  of  action,  after  all  its  effort 
and  battle,  must,  without  real  result,  ulti- 
mately faint  and  die.  Let  the  weakest,  then, 
rejoice  in  this  certain  strength  of  prayer ; 
and  let  the  strongest,  as  he  wages  action  in 
the  name  of  Christ,  get  him,  ever  and  anon, 
from  the  dust-cloud  of  the  plain,  up  to  the 
hill-top  of  prayer,  alone  with  God. 

But  it  is  noticeable  also,  that  while  Moses 
loftily  upbore  the  staff  of  God,  he  OAved  his 
power  to  do  so  to  the  end  to  the  help  of  two 
much  inferior  men.     Aaron  and  Hur  beside 


ON    THE    HILL,    AND    IN    THE    PLAIN.        123 

him,  first  propped  his  exhausted  frame  upon 
a  stone  seat ;  then  with  their  hands  they  up- 
held his  failing  arms.  If  they  had  not  been 
there,  or  if  they  had  allowed  Moses  to  droop, 
the  cause  of  Israel  would  have  been  lost. 
And  who,  then,  unsustained,  can  go  alone  to 
God  ?  Let  his  hands  be  consecrated  by  holi- 
est work,  and  his  heart  "full  of  faith  and 
power,"  who  can  venture  for  one  hour  to 
plead  with  God,  isolated  and  alone.  Even 
the  Lord  Jesus,  in  the  mighty  floodtide  of 
His  sorrow,  shrank  from  going  into  the 
garden  darkness  alone:  He  took  three  dis- 
ciples to  watch  with  Him,  and  far,  far  be- 
neath Him  as  they  were  in  their  poor,  rude 
life.  He  would  fain  have  seen  their  faces  near 
Him  praying  in  the  moonlight,  he  would 
have  leaned  upon  their  shoulders  as  He 
poured  out  His  own  soul  to  God.  And,  after 
Christ,  the  great  leaders  in  His  cause  in  all 
time — have  they  not  turned  eagerly  to  their 
brethren,  even  the  feeblest,  for  the  help  of 
prayer  ?  When  in  some  arduous  hour  there 
has   passed   a   cold   shiver    over    them,    and 


124       ON    THE    HILL,    AND    IN   THE    PLAIN. 

when  they  should  have  been  strongest  they 
have  suddenly  sank  back  weakest,  has  it 
not  been  because  the  breath  of  prayer 
round  them  has  chilled  and  died  ?  And 
when,  on  the  contrary,  they  have  mounted 
into  courage  with  the  crisis,  and  in  their 
high  calling  communed  no  more  with  flesh 
and  blood,  but  have  been  as  those  inspired, 
has  it  not  been  that  the  glow  of  prayer 
round  them  has  become  a  flame,  and  its 
hundred  upholding  arms  as  very  buttresses 
of  strength  ?  That  cause,  therefore,  is  the 
strongest  which  is  deepest  bathed  in  oth- 
ers' prayers — that  life  rises  noblest  that  has 
most  praying  hands  stretched  towards  it, 
bidding  it  God-speed.  The  pole  and  frame- 
work of  the  desert  tent  are,  in  themselves, 
strong,  and  look  well  fixed;  but  let  one 
gust  of  wind  come  and  they  are  over- 
turned; whereas,  stretch  out  cord  by  cord, 
fastening  the  framework  all  round  to  the 
earth — each  cord  is  in  itself  slim  and  weak, 
but  the  network  of  the  whole  holds  the 
strong   erection   fast,    so   that   even    in    the 


ON    THE    HILL,    AND    IN    THE    PLAIN.       125 

sweeping  storm  it  still  stands  secure.  So 
let  the  chiefest  in  the  ranks  of  Christ — let 
the  lofty  doer  of  His  Avord — let  the  pa- 
tient sufferer  of  His  will — feel  the  blessing, 
nay,  the  necessity,  of  being  held  up  each 
day  in  the  hands  of  prayer ;  the  words 
that  go  up  to  God  for  us  may  be  from 
very  ignorant  lips,  and  in  a  poor  and  fal- 
tering form,  but  even  by  that  aid  it  is  we 
stand  fast  in  the  Lord :  and  high  as  well 
as  low  learn  the  lesson,  that,  in  suffering 
in  rejoicing,  in  good  in  ill,  in  life  in  death, 
no  man  is,  before  God,  alone ;  but  we  are 
all  "members  one  of  another."  Be  it  so, 
then,  my  reader,  that,  whether  in  battle 
in  the  plain,  or  our  several  hill-spots  of 
prayer,  while  we  each  in  the  measure  of 
our  strength  hold  up  the  ensign  of  our 
God,  we  all  turn  to  one  another  humbly 
and  unashamedly  for  the  help  we  need — 
and  thus  giving  and  receiving  help,  that 
we  all  not  less  often  look  up  to  the  heav- 
enly hill- top,  where,  crowning  the  ten 
thousand    watch-heights    of    earth,    there   is 


126        ON    THE    HILL,    AND    IN    THE    PLAIN. 

the  place  of  Him  before  God,  of  Whom 
Moses  was  but  the  shadow — that  glorious 
High  Priest,  in  Whose  might  we  over- 
come, Who  bears  aloft  there  the  shining 
staff  of  His  Cross,  the  true  Jehovah-Ms si^ 
and  Who,  in  virtue  of  its  prevdency  with 
the  Father,  "  ever  liveth  and  maketh  in- 
tercession for  us!" 


XL 

I  SUPPOSE  the  encampment  of  Israel  lin- 
gered in  a  grateful  quiet,  for  some  time  after 
the  battle  of  Rephidim,  beside  the  coveted 
palm  groves  which,  as  we  have  said,  were 
scattered  in  the  valley.  It  was  a  famed  oasis 
of  the  desert ;  at  least,  in  our  later  times,  it 
is  known  far  and  wide  for  its  palms,  and  tam- 
arisks, and  pleasant  brooks,  and  green  sward  ; 
and  with  some  reason  it  is  believed,  that,  in* 
the  eye  of  Moses,  it  was  not  only  such  a 
cherished  spot,  but  by  the  desert  tribes  was 
regarded,  moreover,  as  the  chosen  recess  of 
their  gods,  who  wandered  in  the  cool  glades 
below,  or  had  their  dwelling  on  the  vast,  sun- 
scorched  pinnacles  of  rock  above.  There  it 
was,  then,  withdrawn  from  the  heat,  and  yet 
with  the  red  sun  glorious  on  the  great  peaks 
round   them,  the  Israelites  rested  at  peace. 

127 


128  DIVISION    OF    LABOR. 

It  was  a  breathing  space  between  their  past 
scenes  of  trial,  and  the  dread  scenes  that  next 
awaited  them  on  Sinai,  and  the  pause  must 
have  been  memorable  and  deep. 

It  was  in  this  interval  there  took  place  by 
the  way  an  event  of  beautiful  and  touching 
interest.  The  fame  of  Israel's  escape  out  of 
Egypt,  and  all  the  signs  of  God  round  it,  had 
pierced  to  Midian,  quite  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wilderness  ;  and  journeying  thence, 
Jethro,  the  aged  priest  of  Midian,  hastened 
to  meet  Moses,  his  son-in-law,  bringing  with 
him  Zipporah,  Moses'  wife,  and  their  two 
sons.  These  had  waited  in  their  desert  home 
the  issue  of  the  great  errand  on  which  Moses 
had  gone  into  Egypt.  Now,  after  so  long  and 
so  wondrous  a  tale  between,  the  family  group 
met.  Moses  hastened  out  of  the  camp  to  do 
honor  to  the  patriarch  as  he  came :  and,  with 
all  the  kindly  Eastern  salutations,  the  Midian- 
ite  train  were  ushered  to  the  tents.  Then 
was  rehearsed  to  Jethro  all  that  God  had 
done  in  the  deliverance  and  guiding  of  His 
people,  till  the  old  man  involuntarily  must 


DIVISION    OF    LABOR.  129 

have  raised  his  eyes  to  the  mountain  ridges 
round  them,  supposed  to  be  the  home  of  the 
desert  gods,  and  extolled  that  Mighty  One 
of  Israel,  Who  was  infinitely  above  them  all. 
Solemn  sacrifices  closed  the  narrative ;  and 
thereafter,  sitting  down,  the  mingled  circle,  in 
their  serious  gladness,  ate  and  drank  together. 
So  the  night  fell :  and  the  camp,  lit  only  by 
the  pillar  of  God  glowing  on  the  rocks,  and 
high  beyond  that  the  shining  of  the  clear 
stars,  was  hushed  in  repose.  It  was  the  quiet 
of  God-watched  sleep. 

Next  morning,  however,  the  stir  of  labo- 
rious life  began  anew :  and  of  all  the  men 
within  the  camp,  none  woke  to  one  tithe  the 
burden  that  lay  on  the  heart  of  their  leader 
Moses.  He  could  not  spare  even  one  day's 
leisure  for  his  venerable  guest ;  but  taking 
Jethro  with  him,  in  the  early  morning  he  sat 
down  in  the  judge's  seat,  and  from  that  time 
till  late  at  even  again,  heard  patiently  the 
never-ceasing  throng  of  the  people,  as,  with 
their  multifold  controversies  and  causes,  they 

flocked   about   him,    and   judged    them   all, 

6'>- 


130  DIVISION    OF    LABOR. 

By  eventide  his  strength  was  gone,  and  his 
eye  dim :  and  then  it  was  Jethro,  who  had 
intently  watched  all  day,  arrested  him  with  a 
striking  remonstrance  as  to  his  taking  on  him 
more  than  he  could  bear ;  showed  him  how 
mind  and  body,  that  should  be  reserved  for 
other  and  far  grander  tasks,  in  the  huge  sum 
of  these  petty  details  would  waste  and  perish  ; 
and  sketched  out  to  him  a  simple  scheme, 
such  as  his  own  experience  of  desert  rule  had 
taught  him,  whereby  the  enormous  and  unrea- 
sonable labor  should  be  divided ;  the  people 
should  be  distributed  in  regular  sections  and 
grades ;  rulers  and  judges,  ascertained  to  be 
men  of  God,  should  be  named  for  each  ;  they 
should  judge  the  small  matters,  and  the  hard 
and  great  causes  only  should  be  brought  to 
Moses.  It  was  a  system,  in  a  word,  by  which 
Moses  should  multiply  himself;  do  through 
the  hands  and  heads  of  others  an  hundredfold 
the  work  he  vainly  toiled  to  do  alone ;  and 
yet,  unexhausted,  dwell  at  the  centre  of  the 
network,  moving  it,  and  controlling  it  all. 
It  was  a  scheme  commended  at  once  by  its 


DIVISION    OF    LABOR.  131 

plain  sense.     And  yet  it  might,  in  its  pro- 
posal  by  Jethro,   have  made   many  a  man, 
other  than  the  meek  and  noble  servant  of 
God,  shrink.     For  only  think  what  a  differ- 
ence between  these  two,  Moses  and  the  white- 
haired   desert  chief,  since  last   they  parted. 
Then,  Jethro  certainly  his  superior  in  wealth 
and  place  ;  then,  Moses  but  the  shepherd  of 
his  flocks ;   tlien,  Jethro  head  of  a  powerful 
tribe  ;  then,  Moses  going  forth  on  his  solitary 
and  forlorn  path  to  speak  God's  message  to 
the  king  of  Egypt ;  noio,  Moses  the  hero  of 
an  hundred  events,  of  which  the  whole  world 
had  heard,  leader  of  a  people  in  whose  pres- 
ence Jethro  and  his  tribe  were  as  an  handful, 
and   in   the  vigorous  prime  of  an  influence 
and   power  the    aged   hands    of    Jethro,  no 
more  than  the  hands  of  a  child,  could  grasp. 
Was  there  not  temptation  to  despise  the  old 
chieftain's  counsel,  to  cling  obstinately  to  a 
great  rule  like  his  in  Israel,  that  even  while 
it  broke  his  strength,  he  dared  not  and  could 
not  part  with,  nay,  to  retort  on  Jethro  that 
his  poor  commonplace  wisdom  was  but  folly ! 


132  DIVISION    OF   LABOR. 

Yet  the  gentle  single  heart  of  Moses  bowed 
itself  to  be  taught ;  to  see  only  what  was  best 
for  the  honor  and  the  work  of  God ;  and,  in 
that  one  view,  to  adopt  Jethro's  judgment  as 
far  better  than  his  own.  So  the  labor  of  his 
high  office  in  Israel  came  to  be  divided.  It 
must  have  cost  him  not  a  little  to  let  go  his 
hold  on  so  many  poor  hearts,  that,  from  every 
corner  of  the  camp,  looked  up  to  him  ;  but 
he  nobly  denied  himself,  if  so  be,  even  for 
these  poor  hearts'  sake,  he  might,  by  stripping 
himself  of  a  burden  that,  though  heavy,  was 
dear,  be  more  free  to  follow  after  the  deep 
things  of  God. 

Now,  my  reader,  this  spirit  that  was  in 
Moses  was  surely  a  pattern  spirit  for  us. 
Nothing  is  so  hurtful  often  in  the  labor- 
field  of  God  as  the  tenacity  with  which  many 
natures  cling  to  an  influence,  they  yet  waste 
mind  and  strength  in  seeking  to  wield,  and 
wield  after  all  imperfectly.  Need  I  point  to  the 
misery  a  parent  brings  upon  himself  by  the 
minute  enforcement  of  his  rule  in  every  turn 
and  detail  of  his  children's  daily  life,  till  he 


DIVISION    OF    LABOR.  133 

jades  his  own  heart  in  the  task,  and  tortures 
into  half-rebellion  theirs?  Or  to  the  wearins; 
sadness  of  a  minister  of  Christ  who  is  on  the 
constant  stretch  to  keep  up  control  in  a  wide 
and  distracting  charge,  who  cannot  consent  to 
let  one  point  escape  him,  who  is  at  work  ever 
and  yet  work  never  finished,  who,  even  in  his 
hours  of  rest,  is  preyed  upon  by  the  rising 
spectres  of  to-morrow,  and  whose  strength 
gives  way  and  his  life  sinks,  greatly  indeed 
by  what  labor  he  has  done,  but  far  more  by 
the  grief  and  the  misery  of  that  labor  which, 
after  all  his  straining,  he  is  obliged  to  leave 
undone  ?  How  many  high-gifted  ministries 
broken  after  but  a  short  flight,  and  how  many 
early  graves,  tell  this  sorrowful  tale!  Yet  I 
would  by  no  means  plead  for  the  work  on 
this  account,  being  even  partially  abandoned, 
or  for  the  ardor  of  the  overstrained  heart  be- 
ing succeeded  by  a  negligent  and  cool  indif- 
ference. That  extreme  again  is  certainly  far 
worse,  and  more  reprehensible  than  the  other. 
On  the  contrary,  I  would  plead  for  whatso- 
ever charge  is  given  us  of  God,  being  held  to 


134  DIVISION    OF    LABOR. 

with  intensest  earnestness ;  but  let  the  man- 
ner of  its  management  be  changed.  Let 
the  labor  be  divided.  Let  the  parent  in 
his  sphere  so  become  a  living  power  of 
pietj,  as  that  he  shall  translate  himself 
round  and  round  into  the  hearts  of  his 
children — he  shall  control  them  not  by 
word  but  by  silent  influence — each  shall 
be  his  parent's  deputy  to  himself  Let  the 
minister  of  Christ  in  his  sphere  imbue  with 
his  own  spirit  those  standing  next  him  in 
his  flock,  transfuse  himself  forth,  not  in 
rules  or  forms,  but  in  love,  in  life,  in  power, 
so  that  the  weight  of  his  great  mission 
shall  no  longer  rest  with  himself — he  shall 
have  fifty  round  him  like-minded — he  shall 
have  the  whole  circle  more  or  less  smit- 
ten with  his  own  zeal,  and  fellow- workers 
spontaneously  with  him  in  the  work  of 
God.  There  would  be  as  great  a  difler- 
ence  between  such  a  management  and  the 
wretched  ineffectiveness  of  a  close,  unshared 
personal  control,  as  there  is  between  the 
man   who   should  think   to   move  into  play 


DIVISION    OF    LABOR.  135 

a  piece  of  vast  machinery  by  the  foolish 
and  exhausting  mode  of  applying  all  its 
strength  to  turn  a  large  outside  wheel  an 
inch  here,  to  push  home  a  mighty  shaft 
an  inch  there — and  the  man  who,  seating 
himself  at  the  centre,  touches  one  all-com- 
municating spring,  lets  on  the  jet  of  steam 
or  water,  and,  by  that  calm  and  easy  pro- 
cess, brings  the  whole  gleaming  labyrinth 
into  action.  The  one  case  is  as  the  wasted 
energies  of  Moses  up  to  Jethro's  visit; 
the  other  as  the  simple  thorough  rule  of 
Moses,  after  he  had  laid  Jethro's  words  to 
heart. 

True,  we  are  often  hard  to  be  convinced 
in  letting  conscious  authority,  even  though 
it  involve  wearing  labor,  slip  from  our  hands. 
VYe  cling  to  felt  rather  than  to  silent  power. 
We  have  far  more  faith  in  the  work  we 
do  than  in  the  life  we  live.  And  then, 
we  are  jealous  of  the  thing  committed  to 
us,  or  the  place  to  which  we  have  labo- 
riously climbed,  being  shared  by  others. 
We   mtist  hold   by   every  jot    and   tittle — 


136  DIVISION    OF   LABOR. 

we  must  feel  out  our  influence  to  its  last 
details ;  otherwise,  we  are  harassed  by  a 
sense  of  loss  and  wrong.  How  frequently 
does  this  spirit  of  absorbing  rule  and  work 
spoil  an  able  ministry — change  its  very 
heart  from  an  earnest  single  passion  for 
God  into  a  mean  and  pitiable  passion  for 
self !  And  how  fruitless  the  result ;  for 
the  hand  that  insists  on  holding  all  the 
reins  must  one  day  die.  Who  is  then  to 
take  up  the  task — who  under  the  narrow, 
jealous  rule,  has  had  scope  so  that,  when 
the  leader  is  gone,  there  are  twenty,  or 
ten,  or  one^  ready  to  assume  his  place  ? — 
with  his  own  death,  does  his  whole  work, 
of  years  it  may  be,  not  crumble  like  a 
rope  of  sand?  Besides,  it  is  surely  melan- 
choly that,  in  the  work  of  Christ,  any  one 
should  grudge  the  passing  forth  of  control 
and  influence  from  himself  to  others.  Who 
are  we  that  we  should  think  to  shut  up  in 
our  petty  cistern,  and  restrain  there,  the  deep 
stream  that  is  flowing  ever  from  the  throne 
of  God?     Nay,  is  it   not  the   very  end  we 


DIVISION    OP    LABOR.  137 

labor  for,  that  we  are  to  make  others  in- 
cessantly partakers  of  our  gifts— that  we 
are  to  kindle  in  others,  and  bid  go  forth, 
the  light  in  us — that  though,  in  that  circle 
of  expanding  light,  we  ourselves  should 
pale  to  nothing,  we  are  yet  to  rejoice  that 
the  glorious  Christ  is  fast  becoming  all 
things?  Has  this  not  been  the  high  self- 
abnegation  of  every  true  servant  of  the 
Cross?  Was  it  not  the  spirit  that  dwelt 
in  Moses,  when  he  resigned  so  much  to 
which  the  natural  love  of  power  clung, 
that  God's  work  might  be  better  done,  and 
His  people  better  led?  Was  it  not  John 
Baptist's  spirit,  when  he  rejoiced  in  him- 
self decreasing,  that  the  Lamb  of  God  might 
increase — when  he  parted  with  his  waning 
influence  without  a  sigh — when,  like  the 
star  of  morning,  fading,  yet  hurrying  on 
into  the  depths  of  the  uprising  sun,  he 
yielded  the  glory  of  his  ministry,  that  it 
might  pass  on  and  be  lost  in  the  great 
ministry  of  Christ  ?  And  is  this  not  the  aim 
of  all  of  us,  however  sadly  we  miss  it,  how- 


138  DIVISION   OF    LABOR. 

ever  sadly,  being  set  to  unveil  the  Christ, 
we  yet  come  between,  and  darken  His  beauty 
with  our  own  unholy  shadow  ? 

Let  us  not,  then,  my  reader,  despise  this 
lesson  of  humility  and  wisdom  we  may 
learn,  seated  in  thought  beside  Moses  and 
the  patriarch  Jethro,  that  evening  long  ago, 
in  their  quiet  desert  tent. 


XII. 

On  the  fiftieth  day  after  the  flight  from 
Egypt — a  day,  fifteen  centuries  later,  des- 
tined, not  without  meaning,  to  become  the 
celebrated  Pentecost  of  Christians — the  spec- 
tacle of  Jehovah's  descent  on  Sinai  took  place. 
By  the  long,  sloping  valleys  or  water-courses 
that  converge  to  that  awful  centre,  the  Israel- 
ites had  slowly  moved  on  into  the  upland 
plain,  where  the  mountain  masses,  retiring 
upon  themselves,  leave  wider  space  for  the 
spread  of  a  great  multitude,  and  for  the  trans- 
action before  all  their  eyes  of  those  sublime 
scenes  that  were  now  to  ensue.  Nothing 
could  be  more  imposing  than  the  march  up 
to  this  central  plain.  The  rugged  defiles, 
black  overhead  hitherto,  gradually  opened  on 
its  light  ;  then,  as  the  pilgrim  throng 
advanced,  the  twenty  different  avenues 
through   which   they   came    resolved   them- 


140  THE    INACCESSIBLE    GLORF. 

selves  into  one  long  vista,  stretching  itself  on 
and  widening  before  the  eye  ;  the  frowning 
hills  fell  back ;  the  broad  approach,  with  its 
columned  crags  on  either  side,  alone  filled 
the  eye ;  and  far  at  its  extremity,  growing 
larger  at  every  step  in  the  streaming  light, 
and  standing  up  as  if  alone  against  the  sky, 
there  rose  the  single,  dark,  solid  cliff  of  what 
was  now  to  be  the  mount  of  God.  Along 
the  approach  to  this  high  altar  came  the  mul- 
titude of  Israel,  slowly,  silently,  we  may  be 
sure,  for  the  spot  lay  in  the  desert's  heart ;  it 
was  the  very  home  of  desolate  sublimity ;  in 
the  air  there  was  not  even  the  sound  of  the 
dash  of  a  waterfall,  or  so  much  as  a  brook's 
murmur ;  all  was  so  deathlike  in  silence  that 
a  voice  raised  a  little  rang  with  unearthliness, 
or  a  stone,  dislodged  from  the  hill-side,  rolled 
with  the  noise  of  thunder ;  and  it  is  no  stretch 
to  think  that  the  place  was  hushed  already 
for  the  coming  of  the  Mighty  God.  There, 
then,  dispersing  themselves  into  long  lines 
upon  the  plain,  the  people  "camped  before 
the  mount." 


THE    INACCESSIBLE    GLORY.  141 

The  quiet  of  deep  expectation  next  suc- 
ceeded. First  of  all,  God  summoned  Moses 
to  the  mountain  top  ;  probably  the  light 
wreath  of  the  cloudy  pillar  had  settled  there, 
and  God  talked  with  His  servant  from  its 
screen.  The  people  were  required  to  make 
a  covenant  with  Heaven  of  a  very  solemn  and 
a  very  tender  kind;  and,  with  this  prelimi- 
nary charge,  Moses  went  down.  Presently, 
bearing  the  ready  consent  of  the  whole 
people,  he  climbed  again  to  God ;  and  next, 
was  charged  to  prepare  the  camp,  to  sanctify 
priests  and  people,  for,  on  the  third  day,  God 
would  descend  in  thick  clouds  in  the  sight  of 
all.  So  the  process  of  a  purifying  solemnity 
was  held  throughout  the  host;  and  on  the 
eve  of  the  third  day,  all  was  done. 

How  intently  must  the  first  dawn  have 
been  watched  next  day,  as  it  came  ruddily 
along  the  hills.  The  pillared  fire  had  likely 
been  seen  on  the  great  altar-hill  all  night; 
now,  in  the  clear  amber  air,  it  gave  sudden 
birth  to  thunder,  reverberating  an  hundred- 
fold in  the  silence  ;  it  streamed  with  the  zig- 


142  THE   INACCESSIBLE    GLORY. 

zag  play  of  lightning ;  it  rolled  itself  out  in 
thick  clouds,  dense  as  the  folds  of  night,  its 
billows  falling  like  loosened  garments  over 
cliff  and  scaur,  till  the  whole  mount  was 
hidden,  and  the  curling  vapor  rose  in  a 
column  vast  and  black  to  heaven,  and,  finally, 
from  its  breast  there  pealed  a  trumpet 
''exceeding  loud."  Surely  no  moment  could 
be  conceived  more  awful  than  that  in  which 
Moses  then  led  the  people  out  beneath  the 
mount  to  meet  God;  yet,  as  they  clustered 
there,  the  dark  pall  on  Sinai  waxed  yet 
deeper,  fire  seamed  it  in  red  flashes,  the  whole 
mount,  under  the  descending  feet  of  God,  was 
as  a  smoking  furnace,  and  its  deep  founda- 
tions rocked.  Then  the  trumpet  notes  again, 
clear  as  silver,  and  streaming  on,  and  increas- 
ing, till  the  hills  redoubled  them  into  a  thou- 
sand echoes,  made  the  whole  desert  world 
tremulous  to  its  heart.  Who  could  bear  it 
further?  It  was  terror  mounting  up  to 
exquisite  anguish,  when,  at  that  point,  "  Moses 
spake,  and  God  answered  him  with  a  voice." 
How  that  voice  must  have  fallen  on  the 


THE    INACCESSIBLE    GLORY.  143 

ears  of  Israel !  Was  it  as  "  the  voice  of  the 
Lord,"  sung  afterwards  in  one  of  the  great 
strains  of  David  as  "  shaking  the  wilderness," 
or  was  it  the  "  still  small  voice  "  of  Elijah, 
whispering  startlingly  in  each  heart?  At 
any  rate,  it  was  the  summons  to  Moses  once 
more  to  ascend  the  mount ;  and  in  the  gaze 
of  the  whole  people,  accordingly,  his  solitary 
figure  was  seen  wending  upward  and  vanish- 
ing behind  the  veil.  It  is  at  this  point  we 
are  made  to  mark  that  he  and  Aaron  alone 
were  thought  worthy  thus  to  pierce  into  the 
unseen.  God,  though  so  near  His  people, 
would  not  be  unveiled  to  all ;  they  must  be 
barriered  off  on  the  edge  of  the  holy  ground, 
till  they  had  deeper  insight,  purer  concep- 
tions, higher  faith  ;  and  therefore  it  was  that, 
wrapping  up  Moses  under  the  shadows  and 
the  secrecy  of  the  mountain  top,  His  first  and 
repeated  charge  to  him  was,  to  warn  Israel, 
priests  and  people,  that  not  one  foot  should 
dare  cross  into  the  precincts  of  the  mount, 
lest,  God  breaking  forth  upon  them,  they 
should  die.     It  was  to  be  a  ring  of  fire  and 


144  THE   INACCESSIBLE    GLORY. 

awfulness  impassable;  at  that  moment,  the 
trembling  in  the  people's  heart  would  be  sure 
to  keep  them  back  safe  enough,  but  the  fire- 
enveloped  hill  would  by  and  by  become 
familiar,  and  the  sight  of  Moses  passing  and 
repassing  breed  a  desire  and  a  daring  in  the 
hardier  of  the  lookers-on  to  follow  ;  so,  in 
case  that  rash  venture  should  be  made,  it  is 
striking  that,  in  the  first  interview,  God  had 
nought  to  press  on  Moses  but  that  he  should 
return  to  the  people,  warn  them  of  the  inac- 
cessible glory,  and  that  he  who  broke  through 
into  the  mount  should  die. 

Now  we  shall  see  presently  more  of  the 
scenes  in  and  around  Sinai ;  but  at  this  point 
we  must  ask,  why  the  Israelites  were  shut  off 
so  jealously  from  seeing  their  own  chosen  and 
covenanted  God — why  brought  so  near  as 
the  mountain's  base,  and  yet  not  allowed  to 
climb  a  few  steps  on  the  mountain's  side  — 
why,  beholding  everything  of  power  and 
greatness,  just  to  the  veil's  edge,  and  yet  for- 
bidden on  pain  of  death  to  pass  into  the  inte- 
rior  glory?     We  may  answer,  as  we   have 


THE    INACCESSIBLE    GLORY.  145 

already  virtually  done,  that,  with  many  or- 
gans in  them  awakened  to  behold  the  dread 
signs  of  God,  there  was  yet  the  deepest  chord 
of  all — the  capacity  to  see  and  know  God 
Himself—unawakened.  Hence  the  utterable 
things — the  fire  and  smoke,  on  the  outside  of 
Sinai — they  could  gaze  on  palpable  enough ; 
but  had  they  been  taken  withm  the  fire  and 
smoke,  and  confronted  with  the  unutterable 
things  Moses  saw  there,  the  sight,  to  their  un- 
purged  senses,  would  have  been  a  blank 
Just  as,  for  example,  if  we  suppose  two  shep- 
herds on  the  plain  of  Bethlehem  on  our  Sa- 
viour's birth-night,  one  gifted  with  the  spirit- 
ual heart,  the  other  not ;  to  both  the  glory  in 
the  broad  sky,  when  angels  appeared,  and 
their  song  W8.s  heard,  and  the  whole  night 
was  lit  up,  would  have  been  the  same — awe- 
striking,  full  of  God ;  but  if  both  ran  to  find 
the  Divine  Child  where  He  lay,  and  did  find 
Him  in  the  inn  stable,  wrapped  in  swaddling- 
clothes,  and  laid  in  a  manger  ;  while  the  one 
would  be  persuaded  here  in  this  inner  spot 
was  "  God  manifest  in  the  flesh,"  and  would 


146  THE    INACCESSIBLE    GLORY. 

bow  down  and  worship  ;  the  other,  unbeliev- 
ing, would  look  on  this,  the  end  of  so  many 
dread  portents,  as  lame  and  impotent,  and  pro- 
bably pronounce  it  either  a  mockery  or  a  lie. 
So  with  Moses  and  the  mass  of  Israelites :  he 
on  the  hidden  steep  of  Sinai  had  the  pure 
vision  to  discern  God  ;  they  in  the  plain  could 
look  at  the  billowy  and  flaming  grandeur  of 
His  robes  ;  but  if  admitted  to  the  great  shrine 
where  Moses  was  admitted,  they  would,  from 
want  of  gift,  have  so  failed  to  see,  that  they 
would  not  only  not  have  had  their  curiosity 
met,  but  would  have  disbelieved  and  been 
hardened  worse  than  ever.  In  true  knowl- 
edge of  their  state,  therefore,  God  set  bounds 
at  the  foot  of  Sinai,  to  cross  which  into  His 
hidden  dwelling  He  decreed  would  be  death. 
And  the  same  inviolable  la,w  prevails  now. 
*'  Except  a  man  be  born  again,"  said  Jesus, 
uttering  that  law,  "he  cannot  see,"  much  less 
can  he  enter,  "the  kingdom  of  God.'*  And 
(as  the  instant  consequence)  to  seek  to  press 
into  the  kingdom,  without  that  spiritual  capa- 
city, is  ruinous  as  death.     The  impure  and 


THE    INACCESSIBLE    GLORY.  147 

world-steeped  heart,  for  example,  has  an  in- 
stinct of  religion  it  cannot  rid  itself  of;  but 
when  it  turns  to  do  its  religious  worship — to 
find,  in  short,  and  to  see  God — what  debased 
images  of  God  it  conjures  up — either  as  One 
Who  may  be  propitiated  with  bribes,  and 
cheated  with  hypocrisies — or,  where  the  con- 
science is  more  fear-awakened,  as  One  dark 
with  anger,  and  beneath  His  feet  the  torments 
of  the  pit.  In  either  of  these  cases,  is  not  the 
base  and  slavish  worship  such  as,  for  the  soul, 
worketh  death  ?  Or  the  worship  of  the  im- 
penitent, formal  heart — what  do  its  lifelong 
comings  to  see  God  result  in  but  in  reducing 
all  conception  of  God  to  the  dead  stone  of 
ordinance  and  form  ;  and  the  soul,  going  on 
contented  in  that  worship — can  it  in  the  end 
do  otherwise  than  die — is  it  not  smitten  with 
its  own  death  already  ?  Or  the  intellectual 
seeker  after  God — how  fares  he  in  his  attempt 
to  pierce  the  veil  ?  Alas !  do  we  not  know 
on  what  miserable  rafts  of  speculation  intel- 
lect has  again  and  again  put  off  its  devotees 
into  the  shoreless  deep  ?      And  who  by  this 


148  THE   INACCESSIBLE   GLORY. 

searching  has  ever  found  out  God?  Wq 
grant  the  deep  fascination  of  the  quest — we 
grant  the  strong  ardor  with  which  the  natural 
mind  has  often  risen  to  the  problem — nay,  we 
are  aware  of  the  passionate  absorbedness  with 
which  again  and  again  intellect  has  plumbed 
its  way  forward  in  its  search  for  God,  and, 
when  its  poor,  short  line  has  found  no  bot- 
tom, has,  in  its  sorrow,  cried,  like  Job,  "  Oh 
that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  Him,  that  I 
might  come  even  to  His  seat !"  But  with  all 
that,  we  know  too,  what,  again  and  again,  the 
penalty  has  been — how  the  ground  of  truth 
and  faith  has,  inch  by  inch,  crumbled — how 
all  footing  has  been  lost,  and  gifted  spirits, 
that  might  have  been  as  clear  lamps  in  the 
heaven  of  our  world,  through  daring  scepti- 
cism, and  the  folly  on  folly  which  the  forth- 
putting  of  mere  intellect  has  bred,  have  fallen 
from  their  orbit,  and  become  as  wandering 
stars,  dropping  into  the  blackness  of  darkness 
for  ever. 

So,  to   this   day,  there  is  no  man,  unpre- 
pared, can  break  through  the  bounds  God  has 


THE   INACCESSIBLE    GLORY.  149 

set  about  Himself,  and  live.     What  would  it 
be,  even  suppose  those  who  seek  God,  not  in 
His  way,  but  theirs^  were  to  find  and  see  Him 
— suppose  the  impure,  the  formalist,  the  keen 
and   subtle    sceptic,    had   some    conceivable 
power  of  passing  into  God's  presence,  and  be- 
holding Him  as  He  is — would   the  sight  be 
joy  or  sorrow — would  the  chord  struck   be- 
tween them  be   congratulation — and   would 
each  of  these,  on  the  veil  lifting,  be  satisfied 
with    God's  likeness  ?     Yea,  has  it  not  been 
recorded  for  us  that,  when   such  as  these  do 
come  into  the  presence  of  the  High  and  Holy 
One,  as  in  the  judgment  of  the  great  day,  the 
very  face  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb  strikes  ter- 
ror ;  in  that  God  they  know  at  once  they  have 
no  part  or  lot,  and,  as  they  turn  to  flee  from 
Him,  they  invoke  the  hills  and  the  rocks  to 
fall   on  them  and   cover  them!     Is  not  this 
enough  to  bring  home  to  us  the  dread  bound- 
ary-line set  about  God  ?     No  matter  what  the 
nobleness  of  life  or   the  gift  of  mind  ;  as  to 
this  point,  the  people  of  Israel  were  sanctified, 
and  the  priests  doubly  so  ;  yet  neither  dared, 


150  THE    INACCESSIBLE    GLORY. 

without  the  one  heart-spot  of  light,  cross  into 
the  mount.  Oh !  there  is  no  way  for  us 
through  the  barrier  but  the  simple  path  up 
which  Moses  climbed,  written  first  on  its 
gateway,  "  Except  ye  be  converted  and  be- 
come as  a  little  child,  ye  cannot  enter  into 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,"  and  written  after 
on  its  upward  steps,  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart ;  for  they  shall  see  God!"  There  are  a 
thousand,  like  the  Israelite  multitude,  who 
can  see  the  signs  of  God ;  but  there  is  only 
one  in  the  thousand,  like  Moses,  who  can 
penetrate  and  see  God  Himself  My  reader, 
have  you  the  secret  way — the  always  con- 
verted heart  ?  Does  God  bid  you  at  the  edge 
stand  off?  or  does  He  call  you  up  into  the 
mount,  and  bid  you  come  nigh  ?  Times  there 
are  in  your  pilgrimage,  when,  even  in  your 
own  soul,  you  know  the  difference — times  of 
cold  shade,  for  example,  when  your  love  is 
low,  your  life  worldly,  your  prayers  faint — you 
feel  then  the  blind  drawn  between  you  and 
God,  and  the  boundary  for  the  time  set  you 
cannot  pass.     Only  again  when  the  chill  film 


THE    INACCESSIBLE    GLORY.  151 

is  removed  off  eye  and  heart,  and  the  baptism 
of  the  Spirit  is  renewed,  have  you  power  to 
fly  to  God  as  doves  to  their  windows.  Would 
you  not  then  learn,  even  from  that,  to  keep 
the  pure  flame  of  an  always  converted  life  in 
you — mindful  that,  if  you  would  frequent  the 
mount,  this  is  the  way — mindful  that,  if  you 
would  see  God,  this  is  the  glass — and  mindful 
that,  even  one  dark  and  forsaken  hour  outside 
at  the  foot  of  the  mount  is  enough  to  shew 
you  a  miserable  change — enough  to  make 
you  tremble  with  the  words,  "  Our  God  is  a 
consuming  fire !" 


XIII 

No  one  can  tell  how  the  accents  of  the 
living  God  dropped  from  the  flaming  mount. 
There  was  no  similitude  seen,  no  hand  fling- 
ing back  the  drapery  of  smoke  and  fire,  no 
face  gleaming  even  dimly,  no  lips  forming 
the  august  speech ;  but  the  voice  was  without 
doubt  articulately  heard.  And  heard,  too, 
by  how  great  an  audience  1  On  the  hills, 
amidst  the  fire,  and  in  the  air,  thousands  and 
tens  of  thousands  of  the  throng  of  heaven ; 
for,  from  several  passages  in  Scripture,*  it  is 
clear  that,  vfhen  God  came  down  on  Sinai, 
His  feet  were  borne  on  the  wings  of  angels, 
their  hands  set  His  throne  and  hung  the  vast 
curtains  of  His  tent ;  and  in  the  plain  were 
the  many  thousands  of  Israel,  Moses  conspicu- 

*  Gal.  iii.   19;  Heb.   iL   2;  Deut.  xxxiii.  2;  Ps.  Ixviii.  7,  8-17 ; 
Ps.  xviii.  7-11. 

152 


"  THE    VOICE    OF    WORDS."  153 

ously  in  front,  and  their  dark  groups  still  as 
death.     The  fire-wreathed  brow  of  Sinai  then 
grew  for  the  time  calm ;  the  air,  thick  wdth 
palpitating  angels,   listened  above;    the   pil- 
grim hearts,  scarce  breathing,  listened  below. 
Such  was  the  audience ;  and  from  the  bosom 
of  the  great  calm  God  spake.     Was  it  not 
now  such  a  voice  as  was  to  be  heard,  genera- 
tions after,  in  that  very  desert  region,  where 
the  Hebrew  prophet  should  lurk  in  his  moun- 
tain  cave   and  witness    the    earthquake,   the 
strong  wind,  and  the  fire— but  the  Lord  not 
in    these  ;     and    then,    as    if    revealing    the 
deeper  presence  that  lay  beneath  the  dread 
magnificence  of  these,  there  should  tremble 
in  his  ear  the  still  small  voice,  and  he  should 
know  God  to  be  there  f     Was  it  not  so  with 
the  Israelites  now,  that  within  the  sheath  of 
terror — at  the  heart  of  the  fire,  and  the  black- 
ness, and  the  darkness,  and  the  tempest,  and 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet — there  was  God  Him- 
self speaking  in  the  "  still  small  voice  ?"     All 
the  elements  of  earth  and  heaven  wrought 
into  a  storm-winged  envelope   out-side — but 


154  "the  voice  of  words." 

this  the  true  revelation  of  the  God  of  Israel 
in  its  spot  of  stillness  at  the  heurt !     At  all 
events,  what  the  "voice  of  words"  uttered, 
as  it  went  on  from  one  preoept  to  another  of 
God's   great  and  holy  law,   luas  such  a  dis- 
covery.     For    although,    when    the    sublime 
series  of  commandments  was  complete,  and 
the  voice  had  ceased,  the  tempestuous  signs 
rolled  round  Sinai  again  ;   and,  passing  sud- 
denly from  the  hush  into  the  tumult,  from  the 
clear  speaking  of  the  words  of  God,  into  the 
wrath    and    roar   of    elements,    the    people, 
affrighted,  fell  back  upon  the  plain  afar  off, 
and  entreated  Moses  he  would  stand  between 
them  and  God,  and  that  they  might  hear  the 
intolerable    piercingness    of    that    voice    no 
more ;  yet  they  had   heard  what  neither  in 
their  ears  nor  he-arts  could  ever  die — heard, 
in   effect,  that  these  volumed  darknesses  on 
Sinai  were  but  the  shroud  and  not  the  reality 
of  God ;  that,  penetrating  through  their  veil, 
lifting  the  screen  of  His  majesty,  going  within 
the  flaming  of  His  power,  there  was  found 
beneath  all  these,  as  the  region  where   He 


''the  voice  of  words/'  155 

Himself  dwelt,  and  whence  He  spake  to  His 
people,  not  terror,  not  blackness,  not  consum- 
ing fire  any  more,  but  the  words  of  truth,  and 
love,  and  blessedness,  written  at  the  heart. 
In  the  law  now  given  them  from  that  hidden 
place,  and  which  was  graven  after  by  the 
finger  of  God  on  tables  of  stone,  they  had 
thus  made  the  deepest  and  dearest  discovery 
of  Him,  to  be  theirs  for  ever. 

In   passing    through    the    countries    they 

explore,  travellers  are  sometimes  enveloped 

in  the  hurrying  rack   of  cloud  and  storm; 

every  feature  of  the  land  is  blotted  out,  and 

the  eye  meets  nothing  but  the  blind  confusion 

of  the  elements.     But  suppose  at  some  point 

the  steps  are  arrested  by  a  moment's  pause  in 

the  storm— a  sudden  break  opens  in  the  wide 

bwathe  of  mist,  and  through  that  rent  there 

streams  one  long  shoot  of  sunshine,  revealing 

but  a  glimpse  of  some  green  and  lovely  spot : 

the  clouds  may  sweep  in  again  more  darkly, 

and  the  tempest  rise  more  in  wrath  than  ever ; 

but  it  is  not  their  wildness,  or  their  waste,  the 

traveller  carries  away  as  his  deepest  impres- 


156  "the  voice  of  words." 

sion  of  the  region ;  it  is  his  memory  of  the 
sweet  patch  of  landscape  that  just  beamed 
upon  him  and  was  lost.  So  to  the  Israelites, 
not  the  thunder-gloom  and  wrath  of  Sinai, 
but  the  declaration  of  the  Voice  reading 
forth,  in  the  brief  calm,  the  simple,  beautiful, 
but  eternal  words  of  God's  holy  law;  it  was 
tJiat^  we  must  suppose,  left  the  deepest  imprint 
of  Sinai  on  their  minds.  And  cannot  we 
confirm  the  experience  by  the  yet  more  vivid 
and  certain  discovery  of  the  blessed  God 
unveiled  to  us  ?  We  cannot  find  God  such 
that  w^e  can  draw  nigh  to  Him  in  either  the 
storms  or  calm  of  nature.  Creation  is  too 
high  and  remote  for  us,  and  has  such  an  over- 
whelming sense  of  its  dark  and  cold  majesty 
to  throw  upon  us,  that  if  we  are  not  made  to 
shrink  from  it  altogether,  we  become  at  best 
like  him  who,  without  any  gospel  light,  having 
explored  all  nature's  greatness,  concluded  his 
quest  by  the  blank  declaration,  that  there  was 
no  God.  Nor  are  wx^  happier  in  our  attempts 
to  pierce  through  the  veil  of  Providence ;  its 
workings,  as  well  as  those  of  Creation,  are  as 


"the  voice  of  words."  157 

vast  wheels  round  ns,  that  go  on  inexorably, 
and  whose  girth  touches  the  heavens  above, 
and  again  the  depths  beneath — we  can  only 
say  about  them,  as  is  said  in  Scripture,  "  that 
whosoever  falls  on  them  shall  be  broken ;  and 
on  whomsoever  tliey  shall  fall,  they  shall 
grind  him  to  powder."  Where,  then,  in  the 
majesty  of  nature — whether  in  its  still  smile 
or  in  its  tempest  fury — where  shall  we  find 
the  spot  for  the  trembling  and  the  seeking 
heart  to  rest  ?  Where,  through  the  dim 
shroud,  is  there  the  break  for  us  of  light 
from  heaven  ?  Where,  in  all  the  dread  move- 
ment and  expanse,  is  there  the  discovery  of 
our  God?  Need  I  tell  you,  that,  were  our 
Bibles  blotted  out,  and  all  we  learn  from  them 
lost,  cold  and  voiceless  indeed  would  be  the 
circles  of  the  dead  universe  we  gaze  on ;  we 
should  discover  how  vain  and  miserable  the 
creeds  would  be  we  should  then  form,  by  the 
process,  of  which  so  many  have  foolishly 
talked,  of  rising  from  nature  up  to  nature's 
God  :  nature  might  intimate  to  us  that  her 
broad  garment  was  the  robe  of  some  Being 


158  "the  voice  of  words." 

veiled  in  awfulness  behind  ;  but,  as  to  one 
shining  of  His  face  to  us,  one  accent  of  His 
voice,  nature  would  remain  for  ever  dumb 
and  dark — she  would  be  our  Sinai,  appalling 
us,  and  makins:  us  stand  afar  off,  but  with  no 
glimpse  into  her  heart. 

But  now,  my  reader,  blessed  be  our  God, 
He  has  folded  back  the  thick  clouds  of  nature 
— He  has  torn  the  veil  off  all  those  dim  attri- 
butes of  power  nature  speaks  of,  and,  through 
that  opening  in  the  gospel  of  His  Son,  the 
weakest  child  of  grace  can  enter  with  a  steady 
step  where  the  greatest  philosopher  has  fal- 
tered. He  can  enter  through  that  door  into 
the  mighty  temple  of  all  things,  and  no  more 
feel  dwarfed  or  overwhelmed,  but  find  there 
God,  discovered  by  Himself  in  Jesus  Christ — 
in  the  person,  in  the  nearness,  in  the  lowly 
way  on  earth,  in  the  bleeding  cross  of  Him 
Who  is  the  "  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory, 
and  the  express  image  of  His  jjerson."  I  say, 
he  can  make  this  discovery  of  the  High  and 
Lofty  One  who  inhabiteth  eternity ;  and  not 
only  so,  but  this  discovery  becomes  the  pal- 


"the  voice  of  words."  159 

pable  possession  of  his  heart— '' Christ  dwells 
in  his  heart  by  faith,"— and  in  that  glorious 
property   there— in    the    working    and    the 
breathing  and  the  unworded  speech  within 
him  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  whereby  the  loveli- 
ness  and   the  realness  of  that  property  are 
revealed  to  him  yet  more  day  by  day— the 
child  of  grace  catches  the  full  imprint  of  God; 
not  a  distant  voice,  as  the  Israelites  heard  and 
feared  from  Sinai ;  not  words  floating  to  the 
outward  ear,  as  the  commandments  of  the  law 
did  to  them ;  but  a  new  covenant,  an  unar- 
ticulated  law  of  love,  "written  not  on  tables 
of  stone,  but  in  the  fleshly  table  of  the  heart." 
There  now  is  God's  impress  in  Christ ;  and  he 
who  possesses  that  has  such  a  fearlessness  in 
facing  all  the  dread  problems  of  the  universe, 
that,  after  he  has  stood  by  the  side  of  David 
and  heard  the  exclamation,  as  they  together 
gaze  through  the  starry  night,  "  When  I  con- 
sider the  heavens,  the  work  of  Thy  fingers ; 
the  moon  and  the  stars  which  Thou  hast  or- 
dained ;  what  is  man  that  Thou  art  mindful 
of  him  ?  and  the  son  of  man  that  Thou  visitest 


160  "  THE    VOICE    OF    WORDS." 

him?"  he  can  quietly  feel  that  that  God  is 
not  unmindful — that,  from  the  silence  and  the 
vastness  of  nature,  He  has  come  forth  to  Mm  ; 
although  the  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  con- 
tain Him,  He  has  knocked  at  the  door  of  Ms 
heart,  He  has  come  in  and  sups  with  him,  and 
he  with  God. 

Have  we  not,  then,  good  ground  to  glory 
in  this  heart  discovery  of  God  ?  If  I  be  a 
preacher  of  the  Cross,  I  may  be  but  a  poor 
interpreter  of  the  hard  questions  of  the  day, 
to  which  subtle  intellects  would  summon  me 
— questions  of  the  surrounding  darknesses  and 
confusions  and  inexorable  necessities,  where- 
by nature  and  reason,  they  say,  environ  the 
doctrines  of  our  faith.  I  may  not  be  able  to 
throw  many  rays  of  light  on  these  questions, 
nor  may  I  have  a  torch  to  guide  me  in  the 
steps  of  those  men  who,  in  our  day,  overdoing 
their  own  subtlety,  shew  us  a  grievous  speci- 
men of  those  who  are  "  in  wandering  mazes 
lost."  But  I  can  set  all  these  things  aside  as 
but  the  thick  clouds  on  Sinai — as  but  the  dark- 
nesses that  roll  under  the  feet  of  God ;    and 


*'the  voice  of  words."  161 

going  through  the  door  in  Christ,  I  can  lead 
poor,  trembling  sinners  past  them  all,  straight 
into  the  heart  of  God  Himself.  I  may  not 
interpret  what  the  dread  universe  either 
utters  or  threatens  ;  but  I  can  interpret  that 
love  here  at  hand  which  says,  through  the 
lips  of  Christ,  "  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  la- 
bor, and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest." 

Or,  if  I  am  a  pilgrim  in  God's  path,  hard 
beset  by  evil  and  by  trial,  I  may  not  be  able 
to  expound  those  laws  of  fate,  whose  iron 
force  an  infidel  spirit  never  ceases  to  suggest, 
and  before  which,  if  I  looked  only  them  in  the 
face,  I  should  cease  to  strive,  and  should  be 
borne  down.  Nature  teaches  these  blind 
laws ;  and  all  the  outside  mechanism  of  life 
and  death  about  us  in  its  dreary  surface-look 
seems  everywhere  to  utter  them ;  but  I  can 
turn  away  my  sight  and  eyes  to  Him  Who, 
through  iron  law  and  dread  force,  says,  in  a 
living  voice,  "  I  will  not  leave  you  comfort- 
less: I  will  come  to  you;"  and  then  the  day 
breaks,  and  the  evil  shadows  flee  away. 


162  "the  voice  of  words." 

Or,  if  I  am  in  the  seclusion  of  loneliness  and 
pain,  I  may  not  be  able  to  answer  to  the 
enemy's  suggestions,  that  my  sick-room  or  my 
unnoticed  way  in  life  are  but  spots  in  the 
measureless  world — that  they  are  lost  to  God's 
sight  by  reason  of  their  smallness  and  insig- 
nificance— and,  while  He  is  ordering  the  high 
events  of  that  world,  how  can  He  stoop  to  or 
remember  me  ?  But  I  can  take  the  volume 
of  my  God  from  beneath  my  pillow,  and, 
though  feeble  be  the  hand  that  turns  the  hun- 
dred pages  of  its  promise,  I  can  light  almost 
at  the  first  on  such  words  as  these,  "Behold, 
I  have  graven  thee  upon  the  palms  of  My 
hands."  Then  I  can  recall  Him  over  these 
words  by  the  cry  of  prayer  ;  I  can  realise  the 
light  from  Him  breaking  round  my  bed ;  I 
can  hear  His  voice  saying,  "  The  very  hairs 
of  your  head  are  all  numbered ;"  I  can  feel  the 
spot  where  I  am  laid  already  as  a  Beulah- 
light  from  other  spheres  upon  me,  the  secrets 
of  that  God  the  great  outer  world  would 
darken  brightly  with  me,  and  already,  as  it 
were,  sighing  from  the  upper  rest,  "  No  more 


'*  THE    VOICE    OF    WORDS."  163 

death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither  any 
more  pain." 

Yes,  verily;  although  it  be  written  that, 
when  the  temple  of  God  is  opened  in  heaven, 
there  are  "  lightnings  and  voices,  and  thiin- 
derings,  and  an  earthquake,  and  great  hail," 
that  is  but  as  the  dark  shell  of  Sinai — in  the 
hidden  kernel  here  is  the  deeper  voice — "Be- 
hold, the  tabernacle  of  God  is  with  men,  and 
He  will  dwell  with  them,  and  they  shall  be 
His  people^  and  God  Himself  shall  be  with 
them,  and  be  their  God.  And  God  shall  wipe 
away  all  tears  from  their  eyes  ;  and  there  shall 
be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  crying, 
neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain :  for  the 
former  things  are  passed  away!" 


XIY. 

There  was  a  long  space,  during  which 
Moses  abode  under  the  fringe. of  the  thick 
darkness  on  Sinai,  detained  there  until  God 
had  spoken  to  him  many  sentences  of  law  for 
the  worship  and  the  life  of  Israel.  But  sud- 
denly there  came  a  break  in  that  high  inter- 
view, and  one  of  those  passages  occurred, 
which,  in  the  story  of  the  Israelite  pilgrimage, 
arrest  most  deeply  the  reader's  eye  and 
memory.  God  bade  Moses  select  Aaron, 
with  his  sons  Nadab  and  Abihu,  and  seventy 
elders — aged,  silver-headed  representatives  of 
the  people,  we  doubt  not — -and  with  that 
company,  (in  which  also  we  should  say  Joshua 
was  included,)  to  come  up  unto  the  Lord. 
Accordingly,  making  way  for  this  commission, 
Moses  brought  all  Israel  together,  got  their 
assent  again  to  the  body  of  precepts  God  had 

164 


THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD.  165 

sent  them  down,  and  building  an  altar  under 
the  hill,  the  upper  stone  to  be  the  table  of 
sacrifice   before   God,    its    twelve   pillars   to 
signify    the    twelve    Israel    tribes,   called   on 
them  to  ratify  their  assent  with  fear.     The 
youth  of   the   camp,   meaning,   so    to  speak, 
Israel's  first,  unspotted  strength,  stood  forward 
as  priests  of  the  occasion,  slaying  the  sacrifice. 
Moses,  then,   catching    the   blood,   sprinkled 
one  half  on  the  broad  altar-stone,  on  which, 
very  likely,   lay  the   book  of  laws   he   had 
written,  and  which  he  again  read  aloud ;  and 
the  other  half,  held  in  basins,  he  sprinkled  on 
the  people,  as  an  awful  token  that  they  and 
God's  will  were  now  knit  in  covenant  as  one. 
The  rite  done,  he  and  his  chosen  company — 
Aaron,   his  sons,   and   the   seventy  elders- 
turned  them   in   the  morning  light,  for  we 
infer  it  was  yet  early  morning,  and  leaving 
the  holy  spot,  wound  their  way  upward  till 
they  were  lost  in  the  shadows  of  the  mount. 
They   were    not,    as   we    afterwards    see, 
admitted  to  the   uppermost   crest   of  Sinai, 
where  the  central  spot  of  God's  glory  hung, 


166  THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD. 

but  probably  were  made  to  pause  on  some 
lower  height,  from  the  vantage-point  of  which 
they  could  best  catch  the  scenic  wonder  God 
had  prepared,  gliding  on  their  sight.  There, 
accordingly,  clustered  silently  and  with  raised 
eyes,  they  beheld,  as  on  a  higher  and  oppos- 
ing cliff,  the  rising  vision !  Round  about 
behind  them  were  the  round  roof  and  walls 
of  darkness,  black  and  solid  as  if  reared  of 
black  marble  ;  but  yonder,  high  up,  were  the 
plume-like  lines  of  fire  from  the  mountain's 
summit,  and  making  a  circle  of  light  down- 
ward, as  one  would  say,  invading  the  dark- 
ness, and  beneath  that,  first  with  fleecy  trans- 
parency, as  you  can  conceive,  advancing  into 
the  gloom,  then,  shedding  off  its  gossamer 
dimness  and  revealing  itself  intensely  on  the 
eye,  there  appeared  a  paved  floor  of  sapphire 
stone,  the  blue  so  deeply  vivid,  that  it  seemed 
as  it  had  been  first  cut  in  wedges,  and  then 
tesselated  together  in  a  still  and  glorious 
floor,  and  all  about  it  a  floating  of  etbereal- 
ness  and  beauty,  according  to  the  sacred 
account,   like   "  the  body   of  heaven  in    its 


THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD.  167 

clearness."  What  a  noble  symbol  of  the  God 
of  Israel !  what  a  dazzling  similitude,  by  its 
excess  of  light  consuming,  as  it  were,  its 
own  veil  from  off  its  f^ice,  and  making  the 
onlookers  tremble  as  though  the  next  step 
should  be  the  very  sight  of  Him  "  Whom  no 
man  hath  seen  or  can  see!"  Did  the  band 
Moses  headed,  as  where  they  stood  they 
caught  rays  upon  their  brow  and  dress,  behold, 
in  reality  with  the  living  eye,  or  was  it, 
prophet-wise,  with  the  open  eye  but  tranced 
brain  ?  With  the  walls  hewn  from  the  utter 
darkness  closing  in  on  them  behind,  the  ever- 
streaming,  ever-vanishing  fire  high  above,  and 
over  against  them,  the  clear-cut  sapphire  floor 
lying  in  its  haze  of  heaven,  were  they  not,  as 
in  some  vast  chamber,  borne  up  on  wings  of 
ecstacy  they  knew  not  whither,  and,  passing 
before  them,  a  dream-vision  of  the  living 
God  ?  Who  could  tell  ?  Yet  even  while 
they  looked,  and  that  unutterable  loveliness 
of  God  was  unfaded,  a  feast  was  spread  upon 
the  rock,  as  if  in  appeal  to  their  every-day 
sober  sense,  and  there,  in  the  dread  outbreak 


168  THE   SIMILITUDE   OF    GOD. 

and  nearness,  but  tlie  perfect  peace  of  a  shel- 
tering God,  they  did  so  humble  a  thing  as 
eat  and  drink.  What  proof  of  the  reality  of 
that  sight  could  have  been  given  more  con- 
clusive, simpler,  or  better?  The  great  God 
resplendent  above — the  common  human  meal 
below  !  It  was  no  passage  of  a  dream  ;  it 
was  the  certainty  made  palpable  of  the  two 
extremities,  the  height  of  heaven  and  the 
lowliness  of  earth,  clasping  hands  in  covenant 
and  being  at  one  ! 

So  this  symbolic  scene  passed,  and  Moses, 
summoned  higher  in  the  mount,  left  Aaron 
and  the  elders  with  a  charge  they  should  not 
desert  the  spot  until  his  return,  and,  taking 
Joshua  as  his  attendant  a  certain  way  with 
him  in  the  ascent,  climbed  upward  to  the 
edge  of  that  highest  cloud  that  was  both 
cloud  and  fire  ;  there,  at  its  nethermost  part, 
there  was  a  halt  of  six  days,  and  finally  Moses 
entered  into  the  cloud,  and,  devouring  fire  as 
it  was,  dwelt  in  it  forty  days  and  forty  nights 
with  God. 

Whither,  then,  does  this  sublime  interlude, 


THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD.  169 

striking  in  among  the  communings  of  God 
with  Moses,  lead  us?  To  interpret  it  some- 
what, I  believe  we  must  first  go  back  on  the 
scene  of  the  twelve-pillared  altar  at  the 
mountain's  base.  There  the  c^^remonial 
between  God  and  His  people  began  by  the 
pouring  out  between  them  of  the  blood,  and, 
in  the  blood,  the  life  of  an  innocent  victim. 
In  that  deed  there  was  vicarious  sacrifice, 
the  innocent  for  the  guilty,  the  death  of  one 
for  the  death  of  all.  Wherefore,  when  Moses 
separated  the  blood  into  two  quantities,  and 
first  sprinkled  one  of  these  upon  the  altar, 
there  was  meant  in  that,  that  Gt)d's  anger  was 
appeased,  and  His  holy  justice  met ;  and 
when  next  Moses  sprinkled  the  remaining 
part  upon  the  people,  there  was  meant  in 
that,  that  they  were  not  only  redeemed  from 
sin,  but,  by  the  sign  of  God's  peace  flung 
upon  them,  were  also  consecrated  and  raised 
up  to  life.  They  were  both,  God  and  His 
people,  thus  on  the  covenant  level,  and 
at  one. 

Now,  passing  on  from  these  more  material 
a 


170  THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD. 

symbols  at  the  base  of  Sinai,  up  to  the  loftier 
symbol  in  the  mount  itself,  we  arrive  at  its 
meaning  as  in  effect  the  same,  only  writ  in 
grander  and  more  selected  characters.  There 
was  the  devouring  fire  on  the  hill's  crest 
above,  significant  of  the  kindling  and  the 
burning  of  Jehovah's  anger — truth,  justice, 
holiness,  clad  not  in  majesty  only,  but  in 
wrath.  But  again,  there  was  disclosed  under 
that  the  sapphire  floor  bathed  in  the  calm  of 
heaven,  and  that  was  significant  of  the  fires 
above  being  quenched  ever  as  they  fell ;  just 
as,  could  you  think  of  showers  of  flame  falling 
ever  on  the  bosom  of  a  still  watersheet — fast 
as  they  should  fall  they  would  be  drank  up, 
if  I  may  say  so ;  they  would  vanish  on  its 
face,  and  the  lake  would  still  lie  smooth  and 
luminous  as  glass.  Even  so  the  fiery  flakes, 
as  they  fell  from  the  ridge  of  Sinai,  vrere  seen 
by  Moses  and  the  elders  to  drop,  as  it  were, 
to  nothing  on  the  blue  ineflable  depth  be- 
neath ;  holiness,  in  its  righteous  outbreakings, 
sinking  down  ever  on  the  breast  of  utter 
mercy   and  of  utter  peace !     And  it  would 


THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD.  l7l 

have  been  no  gain  had  the  flames  ceased  to 
be  shot  from  their  volcanic  ridge ;  had  they 
so  ceased,  the  symbol  would  have  been 
mutilated  of  half  its  sublime  meaning,  for  the 
glory  of  the  spectacle  was  that  the  fire-robed 
righteousness  of  God  needed  to  be  seen  above, 
that  it  might  excite  a  just  and  holy  fear; 
while,  falling  in  its  tongues  on  the  deep  calm 
below,  it  brought  the  assurance  home  that  the 
twain  in  the  one  blessed  God  were  one ;  that 
the  wrath  no  longer  reigned  to  the  sinner's 
death,  but,  while  justly  due,  was  caught,  and 
every  moment  quenched,  in  the  sea-like  depth 
of  love  underneath ;  that,  in  a  word,  as  Scrip- 
ture itself  has  described,  "Mercy  and  truth 
had  met  together,  righteousness  and  peace 
had  kissed  each  other." 

That,  then,  was,  I  think,  the  glorious  shad- 
owing forth  Moses  and  his  company  beheld  in 
Sinai.  The  reality  appears  to  us  now,  my 
reader,  in  Him  "  Who  is  the  image  of  the  In- 
visible God."  Take  our  Lord,  if  you  will, 
first  in  His  Incarnation.  Above,  as  on  the 
ridges  of  heaven,  there  was  the  intolerable 


172  THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD. 

and  burning  Godhead  from  which  He  came, 
and  which,  from  its  background,  still  threw 
its  glories  down  upon  Him  on  the  earth  ;  but 
then,  below,  in  His  human  guise,  there  was 
the  contrasted  and  beauteous  calm.  He  was 
the  meek  and  lowlj  Jesus.  He  in  His  human 
body  and  life  was  "  holy,  harmless,  undefiled, 
separate  from  sinners  ;"  as  it  were,  over  again, 
the  sapphire  floor,  and  the  body  of  heaven 
in  its  clearness.  We  could  not  have  drawn 
nigh  to  Him  in  the  upper  glories  of  His  God- 
head ;  but  these  were  withheld  from  us ;  ever, 
as  they  broke  forth,  they  dropped  and  disap- 
peared in  that  Saviour-form  we  can  approach, 
full,  in  its  earthly  way,  of  human  tenderness 
and  peace. 

Or,  take  our  Lord  in  His  Atonement — in 
His  whole  obedience  unto  death.  He  set 
forth,  again  and  again,  the  picture  of  the 
wrath  above — the  subduing  love  into  which 
He  drank  it  away  continually  below.  On  the 
lake,  for  instance,  when  the  storm-wind  arose, 
there  was  the  murky  rage  of  nature  darken- 
ing the  air,  and  sweeping  with  the  frown  of 


THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD.  173 

death,  overhead ;  there  was  the  still,  sleeping 
Christ,  his  head  pillowed  on  the  plank,  be- 
neath— image  full  of  the  light  and  peace  of 
heaven ;  and  when  He  rose  at  the  disciple's 
cry,  He  spake  but  one  word,  and  there  was  a 
great  calm.  Into  the  stillness  of  His  mercy 
wind  and  wave  sank  innocuous.  Again,  when 
He  met  the  furious  maniac,  the  possessing 
devils  had  their  poor  victim  so  tormented  that 
it  was  as  if  brow  and  locks  and  eyes  writhed 
with  fire,  and  the  gathered  passions  cried 
against  the  approaching  Christ,  "  What  have 
we  to  do  with  Thee  ?"  But  the  word  of  quiet, 
heavenly  rebuke  was  spoken,  and  the  maniac 
next  moment  was  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Jesus, 
clothed,  and  in  his  right  mind.  It  was  sim- 
ple collision  with  the  mercy  and  the  calm  of 
Christ,  and  the  fire  and  madness  that  had  torn 
the  unhappy  soul  were  gone.  So  it  was  with 
the  Son  of  Man  at  every  step :  the  vehemence 
of  every  ill  was  in  the  earth  ;  sickness  had  its 
prisoners ;  sorrow  had  its  broken  hearts  ;  sin 
its  bitter  ruin ;  death  its  graves;  it  was  every- 
where a  scene   of  gathered   darkness,  under 


174  THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD. 

which  human  life  cowered,  and  its  hope  was 
lost.  But  the  way  of  Christ,  beneath  these 
shadows,  was  again  as  the  sapphire  floor,  as 
the  body  of  heaven  in  its  clearness.  He  swal- 
lowed up  into  Himself  continually  all  the 
sharpness  and  the  fear  of  earthly  ill ;  to  the 
cheek  of  sickness  He  gave  the  flush  of  health : 
to  the  sorrow-laden,  the  spring  of  joy;  to  the 
sin-tortured,  peace ;  to  the  dead,  even  in  the 
grave's  corruption,  life.  His  was  a  ministry 
as  it  were,  a  very  sea  of  love,  receiving  in  its 
crystal  depth  every  instant,  but  quenching  fast 
as  it  received,  all  the  fiery  darts  of  the  wicked 
one.  And  finally,  when  He  closed  that  minis- 
try upon  the  Cross,  there  was  the  hate  of  men 
and  devils  making  darkness  round  Him ; 
there  was  the  full  tempest  of  God's  wrath 
making,  at  the  noonday,  midnight  above  Him, 
so  that  every  light  went  out,  and  in  the  soli- 
tariness of  His  last  agony  the  waves  beat  in 
very  close  on  the  broken  ebbing  heart.  But 
in  that  heart,  notwithstanding  for  one  awful 
minute  there  did  sweep,  as  it  were,  the  very 
wing   of  night,  pressing  out  the  cry,   ''My 


THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD.  175 

God,  my  God,  why  liast  thou  forsaken  me  ?" 
there  was,  to  its  last  pulse,  the  serenity  of 
heaven ;  and  when  its  quiet  prayer  was 
breathed,  and  its  silver  cord  was  quietly  loos- 
ened, there  fell  on  the  crucified  Face  and 
Form  the  calm  of  death.  All  the  terrors  of 
the  wrath  of  God  the  air  was  fraught  with 
above,  but  there  was  this  peaceful  shrine  of 
death  on  the  Cross  helow.  True,  it  was  a 
palUd  light,  as  if  fading  to  the  brink  of  being 
lost ;  but  it  was  even  there,  at  its  dimmest, 
an  indestructible  calm.  And  then,  as  the 
veil  of  death  went  off,  and  the  light  emerged 
into  resurrection — and  the  earthly  drapery 
that  yet  lingered  round  the  body  of  the  resur- 
rection in  its  turn  went  off,  and  the  light 
burst  in  the  unshaded  body  of  the  ascension 
— what  is  realised  over  and  over  to  the  eye 
gazing  on  this  blessed  Lord  but  that,  widen- 
ing out  thus  from  the  pale  spot  on  Calvary  in 
glorious  circle,  He  now  fills  earth  and  heaven  ? 
He  is  the  very  peace  of  God :  where  He  stands 
in  His  place,  sprinkling  His  own  blood  upon 
the  mercy-altar  before  God,  and  again  sprink- 


176  THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD. 

ling  that  same  blood  down  on  us,  there  are 
above  the  unimaginable  splendors  of  the  God- 
head ;  but  between  these  and  us  He,  in  His 
person,  work,  human  form,  love,  is  the  paved 
sapphire  floor  and  the  body  of  heaven  in  its 
clearness.  Hence,  I  think,  the  meaning  in 
that  mystic  feature  of  the  apocalyptic  vision, 
when  the  redeemed  in  heaven  are  said  to 
stand  on  "  a  sea  of  glass,  mingled  with  fire," 
— it  is  none  other  than  a  setting  forth  of  that 
Finished  Work,  which  catches  and  extin- 
guishes within  itself  the  otherwise  consuming 
fire  of  God  we  fear;  while,  within  its  own 
depths,  it  is  a  deep  translucent  sea  of  peace ! 
There  is  no  eye,  then,  need  ever  waver  as 
it  looks  to  Christ.  You  know  it  is  one  of  the 
simplest  of  phenomena  that,  if  a  great  circle 
of  light  be  kindled  anywhere  in  the  midst  of 
darkness,  the  darkness,  ever  as  it  sweeps 
upon  it,  is  perpetually  changed  to  light ;  its 
cloud  breaks  and  vanishes;  its  vapor,  just 
touching  on  the  rim  of  that  circle,  first  takes 
a  ruddy  color  and  then  fades.  So  Christ  is 
the  light,  as  the  body  of  heaven,  drinking  all 


THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD.  177 

our  darkness  perpetually  up.     Let  it  be  the 

darkness  we  fear  from  God's  anger,  let  it  be 

a  vapor  born  of  the  earth,  only  bring  it  near 

enough  to  touch  the  full  light  of  Christ,  and 

it  is  dispersed  and  gone.     The  drooping  eye, 

emerging  into   that   light,  grows   clear;    the 

spectral  fear  that  haunted  us  outside,  at  that 

shining  border  shrinks  to  nothing  ;  the  sorrow 

that  rolled  over  us,  carried  thither,   first  is 

smitten  as  with  hues  of  gold,  then  is  gradually 

evaporated  like   mist,   and   its  very  shadow 

lost ;  and,  above  all,  the  wrath  of  God  abiding 

on  our  sins  and  us,  met  by  the  light  of  Christ, 

even  in  its  blackness,  is  absorbed  as  by  the 

noonday.     Verily,   of  this   Christ  it  is  true, 

^'Himself  took  our  infirmities,  and  bare  our 

sicknesses."     All  we   cast  upon  Him,  all  we 

hurry  with  to  Him,  all  that  from  the  depth  of 

our  sin,  and  restlessness,  and  care,  and  broken 

life,  and  laden  hearts,  we  utter  to  Him — nay, 

all  the  condemnation  of  the  holy  God  that 

would  each  hour  destroy  us  if  it  fell — all  He 

receives  into  Himself     He  has  an  ear,  and  a 

pity,  and  a  help,  and  a  complete  salvation  for 
8'-> 


178  THE    SIMILITUDE    OF    GOD. 

all;  and  while  He  takes  all  miseries  that 
oppress  us  thus  home  into  Himself,  He 
quenches  all,  and  we  find  in  Him  nought  but 
a  sea  of  peace.  So  St.  Paul  commends  his 
followers  in  trial  to  pour  thus  their  sorrows 
into  the  depth  of  Christ,  "  and  the  peace  of 
God  that  passeth  understanding  would  keep 
their  hearts  and  minds"  through  Him.  So 
say  we  to  the  pilgrim  now.  Turn  aside  ever 
and  anon  into  the  mount  to  gaze  on  Him 
"  Who  is  the  image  of  the  Invisible  God." 
Gaze  on  Him  till  you  feel  His  calm  passing 
into  you,  and  you  becoming,  if  I  dare  say  so, 
a  portion  both  of  Him  and  it ;  till  you  feel  as 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  ill  to  hurt  you  or 
destroy  you  any  more ;  feel  as  drawn  on,  and 
standing  with  your  very  feet  upon  the  paved 
floor,  and  the  body  of  heaven  in  its  clear- 
ness ! 


XV, 

mt  iatln'w  in  tlt^  Pijuwt. 

In  the  upper  recesses  of  Sinai  Moses  dwelt, 
as  in  the  audience-chamber  of  God,  forty  days 
and  forty  nights.  He  was  not  only  super- 
naturally  sustained  above  bodily  want  during 
that  time,  but,  we  may  be  sure,  also  was 
supernaturally  sharpened  and  purged  both  as 
to  eye  and  ear ;  for  his  main  task  was  intently 
to  study  and  to  take  off  an  earthly  imprint  of 
that  pattern  of  heavenly  things  God  showed 
him  there  on  the  mount.  We  cannot  tell 
how  the  pattern  itself  must  have  appeared  as 
God  spread  its  map  before  the  gaze  of  Moses. 
Even  in  this  lower  sphere  we  know  that  there 
are  glorious  things,  which  pass  before  us,  and 
which  we  cannot  fasten  down  into  anything 
but  faintest  human  expression.  There  is  the 
tablet  of  illimitable  thought,  for  instance, 
often  rising  up  luminous  within  the  soul,  but 

179 


180     THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT. 

under  which  the  poor  vehicle  of  human 
words  staggers  and  breaks  down.  Who,  even 
the  most  endowed  of  poets,  ever  struck  an 
outer  word-image  matching  the  lambent 
thought-undulations  of  the  soul  ?  Or  while 
the  painter  transfers  to  his  canvas  pictures  of 
land  and  sky,  beautiful  exceedingly,  who  ever 
caught  to  his  satisfaction — what  fairest  touch 
or  color  can  catch — that  light  as  from  some 
dreamland,  which  is  nature's  sweetest  mys- 
tery— which  is,  in  truth,  some  reflection  from 
the  King  in  His  beauty,  and  the  land  that  is 
very  far  off  ?  And  if  so,  we  may  judge  how 
the  pattern  in  the  mount,  opening  its  volume 
in  the  hands  of  God  ;  on  its  starlit  scroll 
showing  against  the  dark  background  the 
temple,  and  the  altar,  and  the  high  priest,  and 
the  secret  spot  of  Godhead  in  the  heavens ; 
showing  these  mighty  things  as  they  were, 
and  are,  and  ever  shall  be ;  we  may  judge 
how  such  a  pattern  fell  on  the  sight  of  Moses, 
untranslatable  in  words — untranslatable  surely 
i^to  any  earthly  copy.  How  could  the 
heavenly,  the  boundless,  that  which  was  pure 


THE    PATTERN    IN    THE    .MOUNT.  181 

light  find  spirit,  be  conveyed  down  into  a 
rude  miniature  image  on  earth  ?  Yet  God, 
Who  marvellously  compresses  His  glory  into 
a  span's  breadth,  as  well  as  makes  it  resplen- 
dent through  the  heavens ;  Who,  if  you  take 
a  microscope  and  examine,  sets  forth  in  the 
cup  and  petals  and  minute  painting  of  the 
wayside  flower,  an  image  as  fliir  and  mys- 
terious of  His  working  as  in  the  myriad  stars 
of  niglit ;  He  found  expression  for  the  pat- 
tern that  must  have  dazzled  Moses ;  He 
despised  not  the  rude  elements  of  earth,  or 
of  the  Israelite's  desert  life,  but,  in  the  num- 
berless details  wherewith  He  taught  His 
servant,  showed  him  how  to  rear  on  the 
sands,  in  lowly  earthly  copy,  an  image  of  the 
heavenly  and  the  true.  Faint,  indeed,  it  was, 
and  unimposing  to  the  common  eye ;  but  to 
the  pure  contemplation  of  the  spiritual  eye, 
instinct  with  a  divine  overflow  of  meaning, 
so  that  each  pin  and  woven  thread  and  hem 
border  in  the  tabernacle  work  became  fringed 
with  sacredness  ;  and,  as  for  the  great  divi- 
sions of  the  place,   they  were  seen  by  such 


182  THE    PATTERN    IN    THE    MOUNT. 

contemplation  to  be  advances,  one  beyond 
the  other ;  first  the  outer  court,  then  the  holy 
place,  then  the  holiest  of  all,  opening  in  their 
awful  line,  folding  back  veil  after  veil,  till, 
along  that  avenue  of  sacrifice,  of  incense,  of 
light,  of  the  discovery  of  God  Himself  upon 
the  mercy-seat,  the  entranced  eye  could  gaze 

"Through  golden  vista  into  heaven." 

Accordingly  we  see,  in  further  Scripture, 
that  that  simple  desert  sanctuary,  described 
by  God  off  Flis  pattern  in  the  mount,  and 
built  afterwards  by  Israelite  artisans,  was  no 
unfitting  shadow  from  the  substance  of  the 
sanctuary  above.  For  John,  who  was  admit- 
ted in  his  visions  to  the  precincts  of  the 
latter,  saw  but  the  earthly,  the  old  Hebrew 
tent  of  God,  expanded,  so  to  speak,  and 
etherealised  in  the  heavenly  structure.  Past 
the  outer  court  or  vestibule  of  heaven,  and, 
as  it  were,  within  the  first  veil,  he  beheld  the 
Son  of  Man  in  priestly  garments,  and  in 
unbearable  splendor,  moving  about  *the  seven- 
branched  golden  candlestick — the  dark  cur- 


THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT.     183 

tain  of  the  chamber  round  about,  as  we  must 
conceive  it,  being  such,  and  the  vastness  of 
its  height  and  length  and  breadth  putting 
such  a  distance  between  the  spectacle  and 
John,  that,  to  his  eye,  it  appeared  as  if  the 
Lord   Jesus  held  up   the   seven  lights  like 
seven  stars.     Further,  the  same  John,  placed 
in  that  vision-spot,  beheld  "  a  door  opened  in 
heaven  ;"  that  is,  plainly,  the  veil  of  things 
still  deeper  moved  aside ;  and,  through  that 
aperture,  had  sight  of  what  we  must  call  the 
Holy  of  Holies— the  last  interior  sanctuary 
of  God ;  the  throne  set  in  its  crystal  sea ;  the 
Lamb  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  ;  the  multi- 
tude of  white-robed  saints ;  Ae  pure  temple 
round  needing   no   light   of    sun   or   moon, 
because  the   Lord   God   Almighty   and  the 
Lamb  are  the  light  thereof     We  cannot  put 
in  one  sentence  all  these  awful  glimpses  John 
scatters  up  and  down   his  pages;    but   the 
mention  of  but  a  few  is  enough  to  satisfy  us, 
that  the  outline  on  which  he  builds  his  sub- 
lime narrative,  the  sketch  he  fills  in,  illumines 
and  expands  into  a  compass  and  a  color  set- 


184     THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT. 

ting  forth  the  heaven  of  heavens,  is  nought 
but  the  slight  desert  tabernacle,  struck  and 
again  pitched  each  day  by  the  pilgrim  Israel- 
ites of  old.  And  what  is  John's  imagery  and 
description  but  in  keeping  with  the  vivid 
points  summed  up  in  the  Epistle  to  the 
Hebrews,  wherein  the  Lord  Jesus,  by  the 
fullness  of  His  work  and  person,  stands  forth, 
Himself  the  tabernacle,  gathering  all  its  com- 
partments and  its  rites  and  glorious  meaning 
up  in  one  ;  wherein  He  is  revealed  dying  on 
the  tree ;  as  it  were,  the  offering  poured,  in 
the  outer  court  of  earth :  then,  in  His  resur- 
rection, ordering  the  preparation  of  His 
Church  and  kingdom — as  it  were,  flinging 
back  the  first  veil,  and  trimming  into  light 
the  seven-starred  golden  candlestick  ;  and 
finally,  in  His  ascension  and  intercession,  pass- 
ing into  the  presence  of  God  for  us — as  it 
were,  the  second  veil  in  His  own  bleeding 
flesh  rent,  and,  by  that  new  and  living  way, 
He  entering  the  High  Priest  to  the  very 
throne,  sprinkling  His  blood  upon  the  mercy- 
seat,  and,  because  of  that,  taking  up  His  place 


THE  TATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT.      185 

there  victoriously  for  ever  ?  Such  is  the  pro- 
cession in  the  great  steps  of  Christ,  from  the 
cross  on  Calvary  to  the  throne  in  heaven  ; 
and  as  we  gaze  along  the  dread  march,  our 
Christian  thought  is  but  the  Israelite  taber- 
nacle run  out  into  vast  spiritual  expanse.  We 
have  curtain  after  curtain  thrown  back;  we 
follow  the  bleeding  steps  from  the  altar  in  the 
outer  place ;  we  pass  through  the  holy  pre- 
cincts of  the  Church  beyond  ;  and,  deep 
beyond  that,  we  enter  into  that  which  is 
within  the  veil — we  see  all  the  glory  of  the 
mediating  Christ,  as,  thronging  from  the  east 
and  from  the  west,  from  the  north  and  from 
the  south,  His  redeemed  cluster  on  the  floor 
of  heaven,  and  He  Himself  stands,  above  all, 
in  light  as  in  a  garment,  "  minister  of  the 
sanctuary,  and  of  the  true  tabernacle,  which 
the  Lord  hath  pitched,  and  not  man." 

That,  then,  is  the  unfolded  reality  of  the 
pattern  God  showed  Moses  in  the  mount — 
and  the  simple  desert  tent  for  God's  dwelling 
was  accordingly  afterwards  upreared.  Is  it 
not  the  true  application  now,  that,  as  that 


186     THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT. 

tent  was  directed  to  be  raised  on  the  sands,  a 
shadow  from  the  great  archetype  in  heaven, 
so  each  pilgrim  in  the  desert  way  yet  must 
needs  copy  off  the  same  high  model,  and 
build  a  tabernacle  of  God  in  the  depth  of  his 
own  soul?  I  think  St.  Paul  means  nothing 
else  but  this  when  he  says  emphatically, 
''  Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  temple  of  God, 
and  that  the  Spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in  you  ?" 
and  when  he  makes  several  other  pointed 
appeals  to  the  sanctity  of  Christian  men,  as 
being,  in  their  bodies  and  their  souls,  sanc- 
tuaries of  the  holy  God.  And,  with  no  small 
likelihood,  it  has  been  suggested,  that  he 
catches  more  than  a  gleam  of  meaning  from 
the  compartments  of  the  desert  tabernacle 
when  he  prays  God  to  sanctify  His  followers 
wholly,  and  to  "  preserve  their  whole  spirit, 
and  soul,  and  body,  blameless,  unto  the  com- 
ing of  the  Lord  Jesus."  What  does  that 
seem  but  the  body  as  the  outer  court,  the  soul 
as  the  second  space  within  the  first  veil,  the 
spirit  as  the  depth  of  very  holiness,  and 
Divine  presence  within  all  ?     Is  it  not  a  pic- 


THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT.     187 

ture  of  the  pilgrim's  being,  sacred  through 
its  whole  structure,  from  the  common  vesture 
of  the  body  to  the  deep  chamber  of  the 
spirit,  shrine  of  the  blessed  God  ? 

True,  although  most  understand  that  no 
man  can  be  called  to  be  Christ's  but  he  is 
called  also  to  be  a  temple  thus  of  the  awful 
indwelling  God,  yet  to  the  high  sketch 
shown  us  in  the  mount,  the  common  life  of 
few  corresponds  deeply  and  thoroughly. 
Who  of  us,  in  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  is 
literally  the  sanctuary  of  Christ?  Some  carry 
the  presence  of  Christ  no  further  or  deeper 
than  the  outer  threshold ;  it  is  the  court  of 
ordinary  religious  rites,  in  which  the  multi- 
tude assemble,  in  which  the  knee  is  bowed, 
and  prayers  are  said,  and  there  is  a  certain 
awe  on  the  mind,  and  a  certain  outside  knowl- 
edge of  the  truth  and  will  of  God.  But  tiie 
deeper  being  is  not  moved  ;  the  screen  of 
deeper  nearness  to  the  God  Who  is  being 
worshipped  is  not  pierced;  yea,  so  little  is 
involved  in  this  mere  worship  under  an  outer 
church's  roof,  and  in  outer  postures,  that,  like 


188      THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT. 

the  temple  court  of  old,  when  Jesus  entered 
it  at  Jerusalem,  it  may  become  a  scene  of 
buying  and  selling,  and  money-changing ; 
that  is,  men  may  and  do  carry  with  them  into 
church,  when  the  worship  is  not  deeper  than 
the  church  form,  the  busy  world  tossing  and 
whispering  and  trafficking  round  them ;  their 
thoughts  thronged  with  its  week-day  cares, 
their  ears  bent  away  from  God  to  listen  to  its 
solicitations ;  and  may,  in  this  manner,  instead 
of  pleasing  God,  or  offering  themselves  pure 
habitations  of  the  Spirit,  do  the  very  deed 
for  which  Jesus  scourged  the  Jews  when  He 
cried,  "  My  Father's  house  is  an  house  of 
prayer  ;  but  ye  have  made  it  a  den  of 
thieves." 

Others,  it  must  be  granted,  penetrate  be- 
yond the  outer  place  ;  but  they  are  still  no 
deeper  than  within  the  first  veil.  They  have 
accurate  knowledge  and  conception,  if  we 
mean  by  these  a  clear  grasp  of  what  the  Word 
of  God  declares  as  doctrine — they  have  a  de- 
light in  spiritual  things — their  emotion  breaks 
forth  at  spiritual  appeal — and  the  restraints 


THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT.      189 

of  God  are  felt  real  upon  their  conscience  and 
their  life.  But  there  is,  in  such,  a  reserved  re- 
gion still,  wherein  the  triumphs  of  Christ  have 
never  been — a  secret  lightless  region  I  can 
compare  to  nothing  so  much  as  to  the 
holiest  of  all  within  the  temple  during  the 
long  time  before  Christ's  coming  when  there 
was  no  open  vision  in  Israel ;  the  mercy-seat 
was  cold — the  place  of  God's  glory  silent  and 
dark.  So  in  the  lives  I  mean,  they  are  even, 
like  Zacharias,  ministers  at  the  altar,  and  irre- 
proachably busy  with  the  work  of  God  ;  but 
let  the  veil  upon  the  inner  spot  quiver,  and 
unwonted  light  come,  and  a  voice  from  be- 
tween the  cherubim  speak,  as  in  the  case  of 
Zacharias,  and  their  start  and  fear  would  de- 
clare, like  his,  how  unprepared  they  are  to 
acquiesce  to  the  last  depth  in  God,  how,  so 
far,  the  passage-way  is  cleared,  but  there  is 
that  recess  beyond  they  have  shut  up,  dumb 
and  dark. 

But  there  are  those  others,  my  reader,  pil- 
grims of  God  in  the  highest  sense,  who  give 
up  their  whole  life  to  be  traversed  by  His 


190     THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT. 

feet.  As  the  Israelites  stretched  out  their 
sanctuary  tent,  one  step  in  it  holier  than  an- 
other, and  the  last  resting-place  of  all  the  seat 
of  God's  light,  so  these  true  followers  in  the 
desert  path  now,  made  a  sanctuary  of  their 
life  ;  the  gateway  of  the  body  they  deem  holy 
from  its  threshold ;  through  one  stage  and 
screen  after  another,  they  then  proceed,  holi- 
ness and  awe  increasing,  till  they  reach  the 
last  secret  of  the  soul,  and  make  the  altar 
there  for  God  holiest  of  all.  They  fulfil  the 
glorious  reality  Jesus  sketched  in  His  great 
prayer,  when,  looking  up  to  the  Father,  He 
said,  in  reference  to  His  people,  "  I  in  them, 
and  Thou  in  Me!"  They  are  in  microcosm 
on  the  earth  what  the  great  heavenly  world 
is  above ;  they  are  each  the  temple  of  the 
Lord  God  Almighty  and  the  Lamb.  And  as 
an  old  classic  architecture  is  said  to  have  exhib- 
ited the  reverent  elaborateness  of  its  work- 
men's art,  not  only  in  its  pillars  and  its  capitals 
nobly  beautiful,  but  in  the  care  with  vf  hich  its 
simplest  stones  never  meant  to  see  the  light 
were  cut  and  set  as  though  they  had  been 


THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT.      191 

precious  gems  each  in  its  own  place— so  these 
lives  indwelt  in  by  the  Spirit  are  holy  to  the 
last  details — there  are  no  shot-holes  where 
one  single  hour's  negligence  or  sin  or  world- 
liness  is  huddled  by,  in  the  thought  that  it  is 
unknown,  and  will  remain  unseen :  but  pass 
you,  in  such  lives,  from  the  commonest,  poor- 
est matters  of  the  daily  existence,  on  into  the 
solemn  temple  where  the  soul  enshrines  its 
Lord,  or  from  that  temple  out  again  into  the 
daily  path,  and  you  find  the  building  of 
rarest  symmetry — in  its  little  as  in  its  great, 
in  its  least  hidden  stones  as  on  its  heart  altar, 
graven  the  words,  "Holiness  unto  the  Lord!" 
Who  is  ready  for  this  traversing  through  and 
through  his  being  of  the  feet  of  God ;  who 
can  bear  the  minutes  of  his  life,  his  quietest 
privacy  as  his  most  public  profession,  to  run 
as  grains  through  the  sandglass  of  God's  light ; 
who  can,  each  day,  in  everytlimg^  stand  by  the 
awful  altar,  that  he  may  have  his  conscience 
sprinkled  with  the  blood  of  Christ,  "  purging 
it  from  dead  works  to  serve  the  living  God  ?" 
It  is  a  searching,  and  to  some  it  would  be  an 


192  THE    PATTERN    IN    THE    MOUNT. 

intolerable  test ;  yet  if  we  bear  it  not  now, 
how  shall  we  bear  it  in  the  great  day,  when 
the  Lord  Whom  we  seek  shall  suddenly  come 
into  His  temple — ^when  He  shall  come  to 
each,  His  fan  in  His  hand,  and  thoroughly  to 
purge  the  floor — when  He  shall  go  in  and  out 
through  every  court,  body,  soul,  and  spirit, 
and,  while  gathering  up  the  wheat  into  the 
garner,  shall  burn  the  chaff  in  fire  unquench- 
able? 

So,  thou  traveller  in  the  way  of  God,  antici- 
pate in  thyself  that  search  of  fire.  Anticipate 
even  now  the  dwelling  and  the  light  of  God. 
Take  impression  off  upon  thine  own  soul  daily 
from  the  pure  pattern  in  the  mount.  What 
though  the  materials  at  hand  for  building 
God's  habitation  in  thyself  be  few — what 
though  the  lot  be  poor — what  though  the 
body  fail  ?  The  Israelites  had  no  very  splen- 
did state  round  their  wilderness  tent ;  it  was 
a  building  wrought  from  their  best,  certainly, 
but  it  was  a  building  simple  and  even  rude  as 
their  own  wayfaring  life.  So  thy  shelter  for 
the  living  Jesus  may  be  lowly — thy  life  torn 


THE  PATTERN  IN  THE  MOUNT.      193 

by  the  strain  of  trial — thy  offering  such  as  the 
poor  widow  made,  two  mites,  all  she  had — 
yet,  beneath  the  darkest  and  poorest  garment 
on  the  outer  lot,  there  may  be  truly  translated 
the  temple  of  the  high  and  holy  God.     His 
palace  ere  now  has  been  in  the  poor   man's 
hovel — his  sweetest  dwelling  in  the  broken 
heart.    And  when  thou  art  wasted  to  the  very 
grave,  when  the   earthly  curtain  outside,  of 
pain  or  age  or  sickness,  is  rending  off,  is  it 
not   glorious   reality  and   triumph  for  thee, 
that,  through  the  very  chinks  and  rents  waste 
has  made,  the  indwelling  light  is  breaking 
forth — thou  art  about  to  cast  the  mantle  of 
the  earthly,  and  to  appear  in  the  white  and 
glistering  dress  of  the  heavenly — thou  know- 
est  "  that,  when  the  earthly  house  of  this  tab- 
ernacle is  dissolved,  thou  hast  a  building  of 
God — an  house  not  made  with  hands — eter- 
nal in  the  heavens!" 


XYI. 

We  turn  the  next  leaf  of  these  scenes  on 
and  around  Sinai,  and  we  find  a  page  of 
deepest  shame  for  Israel.  It  is  a  dark  and 
downward  step  from  the  high  shrine  of  the 
mount  where  Moses  saw  the  pattern  of  upper 
things  unrolled  on  its  sheet  by  the  hand  of 
God;  where  he  receivd  also  from  God  the 
stone  tables  of  the  law,  finger-graven  with 
their  letters  of  light,  and  where  for  forty  days 
and  forty  nights  he  heard  the  divine  expound- 
ing of  the  tabernacle  worship  he  was  to  teach 
Israel;  it  is,  I  say,  a  mournful  downward 
step,  from  that  pure  retreat  to  the  glare  of 
guilty  common  daylight  in  the  plain.  Yet 
such  is  the  rapid  change  of  scene. 

The  lengthened  absence  of  their  leader  in 
the  mount,  it  is  said,  had  worn  the  expecta- 
tions of  the  Israelites  out.     The  late  scenes 

194 


THE   MOLTEN    CALF.  195 

of  their  first  gathering  about  Sinai,  too,  had 
faded   in    their  impression ;  and  though  the 
mount  still  burned  with  smoke  and  fire,  no 
other  incident  had  taken  place.     The  long  in- 
terval since  Moses  had  disappeared  was  dumb. 
The  inert  and  bondage-stricken  nature  of  the 
people,  therefore,  receded  quickly  from  the 
spiritual  stimulus  it  had  received,  back  to  the 
level  of  its  own  natural  grossness^  like  some 
sluggish   wave,  running  in  and  driven  high 
upon   the   beach,   but,  without  any  hold   to 
keep  it  fixed  at  high  mark,  lapsing  back  again 
into  the  sullen  sea;  so   Moses,  as  their  hold 
between   them   and    God,  being   gone,   they 
dropped  back  into  the  old  base  life.     In  that 
temper  they  crowded  round  Aaron,   urging 
that  he  should  make  some  material  thing  in 
lieu  of  Moses — gods,  as  they  said,  to  go  be- 
fore  them.     Aaron   had   already   taken   the 
edge  off  his  conscience  by  descending  from 
the  post  at  which  his  brother  had  left  him 
some  way  up  the  hill,  with  the  ring  of  elders 
in  a  solemn  assessorship  round  him.     He  had 
broken  from  that  high  stand  above  the  peo- 


196  THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 

pie ;  and  now,  like  all  whose  moral  cour- 
age and  opportunity  are  maimed  by  the 
conscience  of  some  guilty  tale  within,  he  dared 
not  protest  against  the  popular  cry.  All  he 
could  do,  when  he  had  got  the  eager  offer- 
ings of  gold  ornaments  from  the  women,  and 
when  he  had  graven  and  w^rought  from  these 
the  image  of  a  molten  calf,  was  to  delude  him- 
self and  them  by  the  poor  sleight-of-hand  pre- 
tence that  this  w^as  no  god  in  opposition  to, 
or  in  place  of,  the  great  and  living  God  above, 
but  was  His  emblem,  so  to  say,  through  their 
homage  done  to  which  they  were,  in  effect, 
magnifying  and  calling  Him  to  mind.  So, 
setting  forth  this  monstrous  idea  in  the  base 
molten  image,  (a  fact  of  ^vhich,  I  think,  the 
narrative  leaves  no  doubt,)  a  feast  was  made, 
a  scene  of  wild  revelry  was  begun,  and  the 
burden  of  the  popular  excitement  was,  ''  This 
be  thy  God,  0  Israel,  which  brought  thee  up 
out  of  the  land  of  Egypt." 

Meantime,  upon  that  frenzied  shame  below 
there  was  set  the  glance  of  the  all-holy  Eye 
from  the  mount  above.     The  converse  of  God 


THE   MOLTEN    CALF.  197 

with  Moses  was  abruptly  broken;  and  the 
latter  listened  with  dismay,  we  may  be  sure, 
to  God's  wrathful  account  of  what  was  pass- 
ing in  the  plain.  Contrast  indeed!  that  at 
the  very  moment  while,  for  this  people's  wor- 
ship, the  pattern  of  the  deep  things  of  God 
was  being  shadowed  forth  into  an  earthly  de- 
sign and  given  in  the  Sinai  cloud,  just  under- 
neath the  skirt  of  that  cloud,  the  people,  so 
God-sheltered,  were  playing  in  the  freaks  of 
miserable  idolatry  !  It  was  a  moment  big 
with  peril,  for  the  anger  of  the  Lord  burned 
in  sentence  after  sentence  against  them ;  and 
but  that  Moses,  bold  and  utterly  self-forgetful 
in  his  mediation,  had  stood  pleading  and  hold- 
ing back  judgment  in  the  breach,  the  tale  of 
wilderness  journeys  would  at  this  point  have 
been  done.  As  it  was,  having  wrested,  as  it 
were,  God's  pledge  of  mercy,  he  turned  in 
strong  concern  and  hastened  down.  Joshua 
met  him  as  he  went ;  and,  for  a  time,  involved 
in  the  deep  craggy  slopes,  they  could  not  see 
the  camp  in  the  valley,  although,  through  the 
strange  mountain  silence,   echo  brought  the 


198  THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 

noise  of  the  idol-feast.  Joshua,  with  the  sin- 
gle instinct  of  a  soldier,  imagined  it  in  a  mo- 
ment to  be  the  clash  of  war  or  the  sound  of 
victory  ;  but  Moses,  better  informed,  told  him 
it  was  none  of  these,  but  the  rise  and  fall  of 
unholy  song.  At  that  moment,  turning  the 
sudden  shoulder  of  the  hill-sloj^e,  and  coming 
out  in  full  view  beneath  the  cliff— there  stood 
the  two  figures  from  the  mount ;  and  there, 
in  the  valley,  full  before  them,  stretched  the 
now  startled  scene.  It  was  all  plain  at  a 
glance — the  tale  of  shame  and  falseness  and 
abomination;  and,  while  still  there,  side  by 
side  with  Joshua,  and  in  their  hasty  appari- 
tion clad  as  with  awful  majesty,  Moses,  in  his 
bitterness  of  heart,  as  if  all  that  had  been 
done  for  this  people  were  now  undone,  took 
the  two  glittering  tables  of  the  law  he  held, 
and,  before  all  the  people,  dashed  them  to 
pieces  beneath  the  hill.  Then  followed  his 
rapid  step  into  the  very  heart  of  the  idol 
crowd — his  taking  the  molten  calf  and  break- 
ing it  and  grinding  it  to  dust  and  scattering 
the  dust  upon  the  brook  that  had  hitherto  fed 


THE    MOLTEN    CALF.  199 

the  people  with  its  sweet  stream,  floAving  from 
out  the  mount  of  God.  Relentings  he  had 
none.  The  once  pure  water,  now  polluted 
by  their  own  sin,  he  made  the  idolators  drink. 
He  upbraided  Aaron  with  his  monstrous  guilt; 
and,  scarce  waiting  for  his  feeble,  pitiable  re- 
ply, he  stood  in  the  camp  gate,  he  drew  out 
the  volunteer  band  of  Levi  as  on  the  Lord's 
side,  and,  sending  them  up  and  down  among 
the  tents,  bid  them  slay  unsparingly  the  ene- 
mies of  the  Holy  One  of  Israel.  It  was  a  swift 
and  bloody  hour ;  and  sad  it  must  have  been 
to  the  heart  of  Moses  to  look  on  the  smitten 
corpses,  to  hear  the  wail  in  the  dwellings  of 
Israel,  and  to  bethink  him  of  the  first  heap 
of  graves  they  were  to  leave  in  the  desert ; 
but  he  wore  an  austere  eye  till  all  was  done 
— till  he  bid  the  people  wait  now,  in  the  ruin 
and  silence  of  the  spot,  his  speech  with  God 
for  them — till  he  ascended  again  to  the  holy 
Presence  in  the  mount ;  and  there  it  was,  as 
he  turned  to  heaven,  the  noble  tenderness  of 
the  man  gushed  out  at  last,  and  he  cried  to 
God  that,  though  he  himself  should  be  blotted 


200  THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 

from  His  book,  this  unhappy  people  should  be 
forgiven  their  great  sin,  and  should  live  and 
not  die.  So,  at  his  prayer,  the  wrath  hanging 
over  Israel  was  turned  away. 

I  shall  not  dwell  on  the  blended  greatness 
and  gentleness  recorded  thus  of  Moses  in  the 
chapter  of  the  molten  calf — neither  on  the 
patience  literally  of  exhaustlessness  with 
which  God  waited,  that,  from  its  lowest  falls. 
He  might  incite  the  miserable  Israelite  life  to 
some  spiritual  rising  again.  The  point  is 
rather,  the  incredible  fatality  of  that  idol- 
worship  at  the  very  feet  of  Jehovah.  Was  it 
possible  ?  The  overhanging  mount  with  its 
dark  vestment  and  its  living  fires  declaring 
God — the  recent  scenes  fertile  with  holy 
signs — the  covenant  of  blood  between  Him 
and  them — the  sight  the  elders  had  gotten  of 
Him  in  the  cloud — and,  that  very  hour,  Moses 
their  mediator  face  to  face  with  Him  in  their 
behalf — was  it  possible  that,  in  this  awful 
compass  of  God's  nearness,  grace,  glory,  the 
camp  of  Israel  should  yet  become  a  scene  of 
idol- worship  and  festivity  ?     We  speak  and 


THE    MOLTEN    CALF.  201 

think  of  such  an  outrage,  and  such  a  fall  as 
that,  as  monstrous.  And  yet,  my  reader,  is  it 
not  worse  than  paralleled  amongst  us  ?  We 
see  not  the  glaring  features  of  the  contrast  as 
these  were  seen  in  material  pictures  at  the 
foot  of  Sinai — the  rites  of  guilty  recklessness 
round  the  molten  calf  here ;  the  great  God 
looking  from  the  cloud-covered  precipice 
yonder.  But  the  contrast,  though  more 
veiled  amongst  us,  is  not  less  true  and  dark. 
For  count  we  up  all  the  nearnesses  and  deal- 
ings of  our  God  with  us — the  overshadowing 
Cross  of  His  Son,  to  which  we  have  professed 
to  turn — the  enveloping  and  brooding  of  His 
Spirit,  not  on  our  daily  way  only^  but  on  our 
very  souls — the  mount  of  prayer,  the  scene 
of  Sabbath  ordinance,  the  spot  of  holy  sacra- 
ment we  frequent,  the  shinings  of  God's  hand 
and  face  on  us,  alike  in  the  tender  rejoicings 
and  the  heart-searching  sorrows  of  life — count 
we  up  all  the  realities  that  press  in  upon  us, 
grander  and  more  soul-subduing  than  ever 
Sinai  did  on  Israel ;  and  then  turn  we  to  our 
Christian  life — what  in  such  stupendous  Pres- 


202  THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 

ence  do  we  find  mlich  of  it  to  be  ?  Even  when 
we  are  fresh  from  some  solemn  life-scene,  or 
are  moved  yet  by  some  spiritual  exercise  in 
which  we  have  caught  a  heart-impress  from 
God,  and  His  world  has  broken  on  us  far  and 
high  in  its  light,  is  it  not  so  that  but  a  short 
day  or  two  are  gone,  and  rapidly  the  impres- 
sion fades  out,  and  the  rich  color  of  the 
things  of  heaven  round  us  melts  in  common 
air?  Does  not  God's  dread  spiritual  world 
thus  fall  back  from  sight?  We  give  it  a 
short  nominal  lease  of  influence  over  us  every 
seventh  day  or  so  ;  but  turn  the  next  leaf,  on 
stepping  from  the  atmosphere  of  God's  dwell- 
ing— what  is  it  next  but  the  picture  of  this 
lower  world  ?  And  how,  with  its  gods  many 
and  its  lords  many,  that  world's  arena  is 
peopled — how  busy  and  manifold  its  worship- 
pers— some,  of  the  golden  god  of  money  ; 
others,  of  their  own  selfishness  in  hundred 
shapes ;  others,  of  base  passion,  of  pleasure, 
of  godless  mind,  of  the  whole  racy,  varied 
run  of  a  mere  earthly  life ;  know  we  not  but 
too  well  ?     Verily,  what  an  utterance  would 


THE    MOLTEN    CALF.  203 

come  from,  let  us  say,  a  seething  city,  if  its 
life-currents  all  had  tongues  to  tell  the  tale, 
and  we  the  hearing  of  the  holy  God  to  hear, 
what  a  flow  of  voices   even   from  the  busy 
hearts  couched  in  the  quiet  church  and  in  the 
still  service  of  God,  if  those  hearts  would  but 
break  their  silence  ;  what  a  multitudinous  cry 
of  their  idolatries  would  reach  us — ''  These  be 
thy  gods,  0  Israel!"  Let  us  not,  therefore,  think 
we  are  so  many  removes  off,  if  any,  from  the 
Israelitish  sin.    Often,  looking  at  the  sharp  con- 
trast in  Christian  life,  one  is  forced  to  think 
of  that  fearful  touch  in  Scripture,  which  in 
one  or  two  lines  tells  us  that  under  the  bleed- 
ing feet  of  Christ,  as  He  hung  on  the  tree, 
the  rough  soldiers  cast  lots  for  His  garments ; 
blind  to  the  awful  Form  above  them,  and  to 
that  being  the  meeting  spot  at  that  moment 
of   things   unspeakable   from   heaven,    earth, 
hell,  they  rattled  their  dice  lightly  beneath 
the  Cross !    So  the  vanity,  the  world-worship, 
the  sin  mockeries,  the  greedy  gain,  in  which 
Christian  men  take  share — is  it  not  all  like  a 
qame  again  i^layed  heneatli  the  Cross  ?     ^  e 


204  THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 

cannot,  I  repeat,  boast  above  the  Israelites. 
In  flinging  discredit  on  them,  we  condemn 
ourselves ;  for,  inasmuch  as  we  stand  amazed 
at  the  nature  in  them  that,  touched  by  God 
at  so  many  points  in  its  higher  side,  and 
drawn  heavenward,  yet,  on  its  other  side, 
gravitated  so  continually  downwards,  as  that 
its  very  soul  clave  to  the  dust — we  must  have 
deeper  amazement  still  at  the  spectacle  of 
that  nature  in  ourselves  which  on  its  spiritual 
side  embraced,  if  I  may  say  so,  by  the  very 
immanence  and  love  of  Heaven,  yet,  in  so 
many  instances,  on  its  other  side,  is  "  earthly, 
sensual,  devilish!" 

But  this  does  not  exhaust  the  lesson  of  the 
molten  calf  We  have  said  that  the  narrative 
implies  the  Israelites  set  up  their  idol,  not  as 
a  false  god  in  opposition  to  the  living  and 
true  God,  but,  on  the  contrary,  rather  as  that 
image  of  their  own,  through  which,  in  visible 
shape,  they  sought  to  set  the  living  and  true 
God  forth.  It  was  an  outward  copy  of  their 
inward  thought  of  God:  and  that  inward 
thought  took  such  an  outward  shape  because 


THE    MOLTEN    CALF.  205 

it  had  birth  in  the  low  slave  associations  of 
their  old  life,  and  in  their  random  memories 
of  the  animal-shapen  gods  of  Egypt ;  so  that, 
such  as  was  the  gross,  darkened  mind  of 
Israel,  such  was  their  idol  god,  wrought  of 
their  gold  ornaments  and  fused  in  their  fire. 
It  was  the  best  they  could  frame.  It  was 
their  hideous  conception,  when  left  to  them- 
selves, set  forth  materially,  of  Him  Who 
dwelt  above  them  inaccessibly  in  light,  and 
Who  had  brought  them  up  out  of  the  land  of 
Egypt.  So,  in  long  aftertimes,  Paul  wrote  of 
the  darkened  mind  in  the  world  in  his  day 
that  had  given  birth  to  ideas  of  the  living 
God  like  itself;  that  had  "changed  the  glory 
of  the  incorruptible  God  into  an  image  made 
like  to  corruptible  man,  and  to  birds,  and 
four-footed  beasts,  and  creeping  things."  And 
so,  in  this  Christian  time,  it  is  not  that  men 
literally  oppose  God,  that  the  things  wor- 
shipped and  clung  to  in  the  world  are  the 
declared  enemies  of  God;  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  the  same  lives  that  are  busy  in  the 
world's  theatre  on  week-days,  and  that  turn 


206  THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 

in  to  the  quiet  of  God's  house  on  Sundays. 
But  then  the  world's  pursuits  and  whole 
influence  so  mould  these  lives  after  their  kind; 
the  earth  so  makes  earthy — sin  so  makes 
base — vanity  so  makes  hollow — that  where 
men  coming  from  the  world  do  their  worship 
before  God,  each  mind,  according  to  its  habit, 
gives  birth  to  its  own  self-colored  image  of 
His  being  and  His  light,  and,  instead  of  true 
honor  done  Him  at  His  altar,  it  is,  alas !  often 
no  better  than  the  molten  calf  of  Israel  over 
again — calling  by  the  name  of  the  holy  God 
that  which  is  dishonor  and  a  lie.  Just  as,  if 
the  eye  look  through  a  discolored  medium,  it 
sees  the  pure  light  broken  into  many  blurred 
hues — it  has  the  fairness  of  landscape,  moun- 
tain, sky,  destroyed,  and,  in  place  of  these, 
fantastic  shapes,  that  make  a  false  and  repul- 
sive world:  so  the  mind,  discolored  by  its 
own  earthly  life,  and  looking  up  through  that 
medium  to  the  High  and  Holy  One,  sees  an 
image  that,  compared  with  Him,  is  untrue  as 
night  representing  day.  Hence,  in  a  thousand 
hearts  met  in  Christian  worship,  there  may  be 


THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 


207 


as  many  strange  shadows  misnamed  God — the 
hard  thought  of  the  unholy,  the  dream  of  the 
luxurious  and  sentimental,  the  undefined  cloud 
passing  before   the   hard    and    austere,    the 
terror  of  the  superstitious,  the  cold  concep- 
tion of  the  cold,  clear  head.     What  are  these, 
and  many  more,  but  travesties  of  God  ?  what, 
but  the  material  of  each  mind,  molten  in  the 
fire,  so  to  speak,  of  its  own  unpurged  heart  ? 
And  what   can  be   the  result,  but  that  wor- 
shippers of  such  a  sort,  approaching  to  the 
altar,  instead  of  drinking  there  of  the  pure 
river  of  water  of  life,  find  that  they  are  filled 
with  the  fruit  of  their  own  devices ;  that  the 
true  and  righteous  God,  scattering  the  dust 
of  their  own  idols,  so  to  say,  on  the  stream  of 
grace,  gives  it  them  to  drink ;  their  spiritual 
exercise  neither  sanctifies  nor  refreshes  them  ; 
they  receive  only  of  what  they  bring,  and  the 
current,  brimming  to  others  with  the  life  of 
heaven,  to  them  is  polluted  at  its  source. 

When  we  think  of  these  things,  my  reader, 
what  a  watch,  as  Christ's  pilgrims,  need  we 
to  set  on  our  own  heart !     Such  is  the  evil  in 


208  THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 

the  best,  that  in  a  moment  we  are  off  the 
high  balance  of  a  near  intercourse  with  God. 
Some  vapor  from  the  earth  rises,  its  shadow 
passes  between  Him  and  us,  and,  in  the 
mechanicahiess  or  in  the  wandering  or  in  the 
creeping  habit  unguarded  sin  is  weaving  on 
us,  we  are  forthwith  no  longer  true  worship- 
pers, but  bowing  down  really  to  some  base 
fiction  we  have  substituted,  and  saying,  ^^This 
be  thy  god,  0  Israel!"  Hence  how  grieved 
the  Spirit  often  is  in  His  striving  with  us ; 
how  awful  the  light  of  God's  eye  set  pierc- 
ingly upon  us ;  and  how,  but  for  the  inter- 
posing prayer  of  Christ  in  the  mount,  Him 
who  pleads  for  us  with  a  sadness  yet  at  the 
same  time  with  a  love  that  can  never  die,  we 
should  over  and  over  perish  in  our  false- 
ness and  our  sin.  I  say,  therefore,  that  if  we 
are  to  escape  the  guilt  of  the  molten  calf,  we 
must  be  rigorously  watchful  of  our  hearts. 
We  must  leave  frequently  the  deadening  air 
of  the  plain,  and  stand  in  the  pure,  elastic  air 
of  the  mount.  We  must,  in  a  word,  bathe 
the  soul,  immediately  and  always,  in  the  very 


THE   MOLTEN    CALF.  209 

light  of  God.  That  light— the  light  of  God's 
Word,  the  light  of  all  exercise  and  ordinance 
and  faith  and  life  that  bring  Christ  in  His 
presence  near,  the  light,  above  all,  of  constant 
intercourse  with  God — as  the  Scriptures  call 
it,  "praying  in  the  Spirit,"  praying  as  if  we 
lived  and  moved  already  wrapped  in  the 
luminousness  of  the  upper  world — that  light 
of  God  is  the  one  powerful  solvent  that  in  a 
moment  disengages  all  impurity  from  out  the 
heart.  As  the  chemist  does  with  his  solvents 
when  he  wishes  foreign  matters  detached  and 
deposited,  and  some  pure  element  to  be  set 
free ;  so  the  light  of  God  I  speak  of,  taking 
in  the  heart  often  as  you  carry  it  there,  sheds 
every  grain  of  pollution  and  of  evil  out  of 
it — by  its  action  drops  these  down  as  dregs, 
and  lifts  the  freed  soul  then  up  in  purity  and 
beauty  like  itself  Hasten,  then,  always  into 
that  presence  of  light  and  power.  Sink  not 
down  among  the  world's  shadows,  out  of 
which,  if  the  best  part  of  your  life  is  there, 
your  worship  can  but  catch  feeble  and  broken 
glimmers:  but,  like  the  upshot  arrow,  take 


210  THE    MOLTEN    CALF. 

flight  to  God  :  in  His  light  behold  light :  and 
there,  being  strengthened  in  your  gaze  as  you 
gaze  deeper,  there,  being  purified  and  trans- 
formed in  your  life  as  you  live  more  con- 
stantly, that  shall  come  to  pass  which  is  put 
with  the  likeness  of  a  holy  riddle  in  the 
lines : 

"  Jesus  in  heaven,  Jesus  in  the  heart, 
Heaven  in  the  heart,  the  heart  in  heaven." 


XVII. 

wxim  tfte  mat 

The  chapter  of  the  molten  calf  done,  Moses 
made  one  very  remarkable  request  of  God. 
It  was  that  God  would  shew  him  His  glory. 
Had  not  Moses  been  perusing  the  features  of 
that  glory  all  along  and  from  day  to  day— in 
the  burning  bush— in  the  miracles  in  Egypt 
—in  the  pillared  cloud  and  fire— in  the  de- 
scent of  God  on  Sinai— in  the  sight  of  the 
similitude  of  God  he  had  shared  with  Aaron 
and  the  elders— and,  above  all,  in  the  secret 
audiences  he  had  had  on  Sinai,  when  God 
spoke  with  him  face  to  face  as  a  man  speaketh 
with  his  friend  ?  Was  he  not  perfectly  familiar 
in  the  companionship  and  light  and  knowl- 
edge of  God  ?     What,  then,  meant  he  by  the 
earnest  prayer,  that  God  would  shew  him  His 
glory  ?     He  was  just  fresh  from  an  interview 
in  the  tabernacle  in  the  plain,  when  all  Israel 


212  WITHIN    THE    CLIFT. 

had  stood  each  man  in  his  tent  door,  and  had 
looked  after  Moses  tremblingly  as  he  Avent  be- 
hind the  curtain  of  the  Most  High' — he  had 
just  ceased  a  close  speech  with  God,  in  which 
he  had  gained  promise  of  the  Angel-guide 
not  yet  to  abandon  the  guilty  people  ;  was  it 
not  therefore  something  like  superfluous  reit- 
eration, that,  when  all  was  done,  a  sudden 
vehement  aspiring  seems  like  a  flame  to  have 
burst  through  the  soul  and  lips  of  Moses,  and 
he  prayed  to  God,  ''  I  beseech  thee,  shew  me 
Thy  glory!" 

Yet  you  will  understand  the  case  better 
when  you  reflect  on  what  has  often  happened 
in  an  earthly  friendship.  Two  lives  have 
been  as  one  in  the  walk  and  intimacy  of  years; 
you  know  your  friend,  as  you  suppose,  thor- 
oughly ;  one  heart  reflects  the  other,  one 
mind  shares  the  whole  life  and  opinion  of  the 
other ;  yet,  close  and  dear  as  is  this  bond, 
there  comes  a  moment  w^hen  some  chord  of 
hid  emotion  is  of  a  sudden  touched — some 
flash  of  thought  in  a  suggestive  book  you  read 
together  wakens  it,  or  some  tale  of  half  voice- 


WITHIN    THE    CLIFT.  213 

less  sorrow,  or  one  of  you  is  in  pain  or  clan- 
ger  or  in  the  rush  of  bitter  trial— and  straight- 
way the  smooth  surface  of  your  common  walk 
together  breaks  up ;  soul  is  revealed  to  soul ; 
and  as  you  gaze  in  each  other's  eyes,  you  feel 
that  what  you  knew  of  your  friend  formerly 
was  only  darkly  as  through  a  glass— that  now 
you  know  as  also  altogether  you  are  known. 
Somewhat  in  this  way  we  may  suppose  Abra- 
ham to  have  had  sight  of  God  on  the  eve  of 
Sodom's  ruin,  for  though  in  ordinary  times  he 
was  the  friend  of  God  and  walked  with  Him, 
in  that  agitated  hour  there  must  have  been 
such  a  gush  of  intense  words  and  earnestness 
between  them  that  God  shone  round  on  His 
servant  with  a  double  glow,  and  the  latter, 
smitten  even  while  he  prayed,  fell  on  his  face 
and  called  himself  dust  and  ashes.    Somewhat 
in  this  way  also  Ave  may  think  of  Elijah,  who 
was  familiar  with  the  deliverances  and  love 
of  God,  yet  at  the  cave's  mouth,  in  the  day  of 
his  uttermost  grief,  the  Lord  passed  by  touch- 
ing   him  in  such  wise  to  the  quick  that  the 
prophet  covered  his  face  with  his  mantle  and 


214  WITHIN    THE    CLIFT. 

stood  speechless.  Somewhat  in  this  way  also 
we  may  think  of  the  three  disciples  on  the 
height  of  Transfiguration  ;  they  were  the  com- 
panions of  their  Lord  by  the  flood  and  in  the 
field,  so  that  they  knew  His  holy  features  and 
feared  not,  but  were  gladdened  in  His  pres- 
ence ;  but  in  that  withdrawn  scene  under 
the  cloud,  He  broke  aside  the  screen  of  His 
glory,  so  that  as  the  half-repressed  splendor 
poured  its  flood  upon  them,  they  fell  to  the 
earth  as  dead  men.  And  somewhat  in  this 
way,  finally,  we  judge  it  was  with  Moses  when 
he  besought  God  to  see  His  glory ;  he  had 
read  that  glory  page  after  page,  till  one  would 
have  thought  he  might  have  repeated  it  from 
end  to  end  in  amplest  tale ;  but  for  all  the 
closeness  and  the  dearness  of  his  walk  with 
God,  there  was  still  some  yearning  deep  in  the 
soul  unfulfilled — some  chapter  yet  that  left  the 
tale  unfinished — some  spring  beyond  all  those 
other  springs  he  had  drunk  in  God  still  un- 
touched, whose  stream  he  would  loosen,  w^hose 
gush  he  would  drink.  "  I  beseech  Thee,"  was 
his  craving,  therefore,  "shew  me  Thy  glory!" 


WITHIN    THE    CLIFT.  215 

God  complied  with  the  request.     Not  that 
it  was  possible  for  Moses,  or  for  any  man,  to 
see  the  essential  being  and  glory  of  the  Most 
High,  and  live.     At  best,  it  could  be  but  the 
skirts  of  that  glory,  or  its  foot-tracks  where 
its  steps  had  been.    Thus  far  Moses  was  privi- 
ledged — up  to  the  very  margin  where  human 
eye  dared  look,  but  beyond  which  it  would 
be  over-dazzled,  and  perish.     So  God  bid  him 
stand  within  a  clift  of  rock  on  a  solitary  spot 
of  Sinai ;  the  hills  round   about  were  to  be 
bare  of  men  and  cattle ;  the  silence  was  to  be 
as  the  silence  and  sacredness  of  heaven  ;    and 
there,  Moses,  having  placed  himself,  lapped 
over  by  the  walled  crags,  the  morning  soft 
above  him,  and  the  hand  of  God  his  shelter, 
he  looked  through  the  lattice  of  the  hiding- 
place  thus  strangely  made,  and  the  Lord  God 
passed    before     him,    and    proclaimed     His 
name:— "The  Lord,  the  Lord  God,  merciful 
and  gracious,  long-suffering,  and  abundant  in 
goodness  and  truth,  keeping  mercy  for  thou- 
sands,  forgiving   iniquity    and   transgression 
and  sin,  and  that  will  by  no  means  clear  the 


216  WITHIN    THE    CLIFT. 

guilty ;  visiting  the  iniquity  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  children,  and  upon  the  children's 
children,  unto  the  third  and  to  the  fourth 
generation."  It  was  not  that,  probably,  which 
Moses  had  had  expectation  of;  it  was  a  dis- 
closure of  the  deep  lore  of  God's  name  poured 
upon  his  ear,  not  a  spectacle  flaming  on  the 
eye  ;  indeed,  we  may  at  once  infer  that,  while 
the  ear  might  so  far  hear,  the  eye  was  incapa- 
ble of  bearing  the  burst  of  the  Invisible — 
that,  as  the  wave  of  God  passed  rustlingly  on 
the  hill-side,  the  window  through  which 
Moses  strained  his  gaze  forward  was  dark- 
ened by  the  merciful  cloud  above  him  drop- 
ping its  drapery  between — and  that  only 
when  the  wave  was  vanishing,  the  veil  before 
his  eyes  melted,  and  he  saw  the  latter  part, 
like  the  sweep  of  a  garment  train,  gleaming  on 
him,  and  then  gone.  Yet  even  that  was 
enough,  as  we  shall  see,  to  fling  back  on  the 
face  of  Moses  such  a  radiance  as,  when  he 
descended  to  the  camp,  beholders  could  not 
look  on  it  steadily,  till  through  a  veil  its  light 
was  tempered. 


WITHIN    THE    CLIFT.  217 

Such,  then,  was  the  opening  into  God's 
glory  Moses  saw  from  within  the  clift.  Now, 
the  point  I  think  most  manifest  in  this  chal- 
lenging of  what  many  would  consider  a  more 
perilous  intercourse  with  God,  is  the  high 
spiritual  heroism  of  the  man.  Might  he  not 
have  rested  in  content  with  what  he  had 
seen  and  heard  already — with  the  ties  already 
very  close  that  knit  him  to  the  God  of  Israel — 
with  the  holy  balance  on  which  all  his  daily 
way  and  speech  with  Heaven  w^ere  at  that 
moment  poised?  Why  disturb  the  existing 
state  of  things?  Why  put  his  present  privi- 
lege and  quiet  into  uncalled-for  hazard,  by 
pressing  forward  as  he  did  in  that  burning 
prayer  into  further  depths  of  awfulness,  and.,, 
it  might  be,  fear  ?  We  can  only  answer,  that- 
he  but  obeyed  the  law  of  spiritual  boldness- 
and  intensity  every  true  servant  of  the  living 
God  necessarily  comes  under.  He  could  not 
have  paused,  even  though  he  would  have 
done  so ;  for  he  was  in  the  strong  current  of 
the  will  and  work  of  Heaven ;  and  such  was 

the  fascination  in  his  dedicated  life,  such  the 

10 


218  WITHIN    THE    CLIFT. 

one  step  of  ardent  laying  hold  of  God  lead- 
ing to  another  step  higher  and  more  ardent 
yet,  that  there  was  no  line  where  he  could 
arrest  his  way — he  miist  know  where  to  find 
God,  and,  if  that  were  possible,  come  even  to 
His  seat ;  like  Paul  in  after  times,  who  illus- 
trated the  very  same  passionate  aspiring,  it 
might  be  said  of  Moses,  that,  "forgetting 
those  things  which  were  behind,  and  reaching 
forth  to  those  things  which  were  before,  he 
pressed  toward  the  mark  for  the  prize  of  the 
high  calling  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus."  Hence 
the  courage — not  the  mere  frivolous  curiosity, 
which  God  would  have  rebuked — ^but  the 
rapt  courage  and  deliberateness  with  which  he 
placed  himself  within  the  clift,  and,  in  its  wild 
companionless  spot,  waited  that,  according  to 
his  own  prayer,  he  might  see  Jehovah's  glory. 
Are  we  aware  that  the  same  startling  law, 
forcing  on  Moses  thus  from  one  stage  of 
acquaintanceship  to  another  with  the  Most 
High  God,  is  that  very  law  which  now,  in 
our  Christian  dedication,  necessarily  abides 
on  us  ?     It  may  be,  indeed,  that  we  are  not 


\yiTHIN    THE    CLIFT.  219 

SO  earnestly  bent  on  Divine  discovery  as  lie 
was ;  that  we  do  not  speak  and  cry  to  God 
out  of  such  passion  of  spiritual  desire  as 
moved  him.  We  may  willingly  be  ready  to 
keep  things  around  us  in  our  lot  and  life 
exactly  as  they  are :  the  quiet  everyday  bless- 
ing, the  coming  and  going  to  the  house  of 
God,  the  routine  of  prayers,  and  the  unevent- 
ful way  in  which  we  move  from  day  to  day, 
retreating  none,  neither  advancing;  only  a 
state  of  life  smooth  and  still,  and  in  which  we 
glide  on  unalarmed  and  our  souls  in  quiet. 
We  should  be  thankful,  I  doubt  not,  that  this 
framework  about  us  were  always  so  ;  we 
should  crave  no  deeper  dealings  with  our 
God ;  we  should  feel,  if  tested  on  the  point, 
that  we  had  advanced  near  enough  to  the 
kingdom  of  heaven — that  the  ties  that  bind 
us  to  it  in  our  Christian  name  and  way  at 
present,  are  enough,  and  their  stretch  brings 
us  near  enough ;  if  we  were  drawn  nearer  to 
its  light  and  flame,  we  should  shrink,  retreat- 
ing, and  afraid.  That,  I  believe,  is  the  prev- 
alent habit  of  our  mind. 


220  WITHIN   THE    CLIFT. 

Yet,  although  this  may  be  our  real  heart- 
temper  on  the  subject,  we  cannot  help  our- 
selves out  of  the  dread  dilemma  in  which  by 
our  Christian  pledges  we  are  fixed.  For 
what  is  the  meaning  of  those  many  prayers 
that  day  by  day  pass,  it  may  be  lightly,  but 
before  God,  across  our  lips  ?  We  dare  not,  in 
these  prayers,  ask  that  God  would  keep  us,  as 
regards  the  knowledge  of  Himself,  exactly 
as  we  are ;  that  He  may  not  put  anything  we 
love  on  earth  to  hazard,  in  drawing  us  on  to 
a  deeper  realizing  in  our  souls  of  His  light 
and  life  ;  in  a  word,  that  He  may  not  isolate 
us  awfully  within  the  clift,  as  He  did  Moses, 
and  there  show  us  His  glory.  We  cannot 
pray  such  literal  things  as  these,  although,  if 
truly  interpreted,  perhaps  these  would  be  the 
real  petitions  found  at  the  bottom  of  our 
souls.  Our  prayers,  therefore,  of  necessity, 
are,  that  we  may  know  God,  that  we  may 
increase  in  the  experience  of  His  kingdom, 
that  we  may  rise  from  one  reach  of  grace  to 
another.  These  are  the  requests  Christian 
life  forces  on  us,  and  without  which  Christian 


WITHIN    THE    CLIFT.  221 

life  would  mean  nothing  but  a  hollow  mock- 
ery.      And   Avhat    then,    I    ask,    must    such 
prayers— such  prayers  as  we  are  all  in  the 
habit  of  breathing,  alone,  or  in  our  families, 
or  at  the  public  altar— what  do  such  prayers 
virtually  mean,  but  that  God  would,  at  what- 
ever cost,  lead  us  on  and  up ;  that  He  would 
put  us  to  peril;  that* He  would  disturb  and 
dash,  if  no  otherwise  it  can  be,  the  pleasant 
surroundings   of    our   life;    that   He   would 
isolate  us  into  loneliness,  and  put  us  within 
the  clift,  and  there,  in  secluded  shadow,  show 
us  His  glory  ?    No  man  who  prays  much,  and 
prays    the    awful    utterances    the    Christian 
tongue  must  utter,   but  deliberately  handles 
these  weapons.     He  is  like  the  sailor  in  the 
quiet  port,  desiring  he  may  know  the  strength 
and  safety  of  his  anchor  cable ;  he  can  only 
discover  that  by  being  launched  in  the  roar- 
ing storm,  when,   paying  his   cable  out,   he 
shall  find  whether,  strained  between  life  and 
death,  its  ligaments  will  hold.     Or  he  is  like 
the   soldier   in   his  quiet  home,   desiring  he 
may  know  the  temper  of  his  shield  ;  that  can 


222  WITHIN    THE    CLIFT. 

only  be  by  his  dashing  into  the  thick  of 
battle,  and  receiving  the  winged  shafts  upon 
its  face.  Or  he  is  like  the  pilgrim  under  the 
palm-tree  shade,  desiring  he  may  know  that 
his  bread  always  shall  be  given  him,  and  his 
water  sure ;  he  can  only  put  that  to  trial  by 
plunging  again  into  the  waste,  looking  for 
his  manna  on  the  bare  sands,  and  for  his 
stream  flowing  from  the  rock.  So,  have  you 
considered  what  many  of  your  prayers  must 
mean?  that  answer  only  can  come  to  them 
sometimes  at  a  cost  that  makes  the  heart 
tremble,  that  destroys  earthly  peace,  that 
makes  past  life  crumble  down  around  us  like 
the  crumbling  of  a  vision?  Have  you  con- 
sidered that  is  often  what  is  meant  by  your 
"  following  on  to  know  the  Lord " — the 
storm,  to  try  your  anchor — the  battle,  to 
prove  your  shield — the  desert- way,  to  find 
the  sufficiency  of  pilgrim  fare  ? 

Hence,  I  believe  God's  placing  us  within 
the  clift  to  see  His  glory.  He  does  so  in  an- 
swer to  our  own  asking,  however  little  we 
may  have  weighed  the  terms  of  that  asking, 


WITHIN    THE    CLIFT. 


223 


and  however  mucli,  in  breathing  them,  we 
may,  at  heart,    have   been  untrue.     One   is 
drawn  aside  into  the  clift  of  personal  loneli- 
ness ;  our  expectations  from  the  world  fail ; 
its  friendships  drop  off;  its  rewards,  when  we 
grasp  them,  mock  us  as  the  thin  air;  we  have 
a  shadow  on  us  of  the  heart-desertion  of  our 
Lord  when  He  said  to  His  disciples,   "Ye 
shall  be  scattered  every  man  to  his  own,  and 
shall  leave  Me  alone."     Yet,  out  of  the  win- 
dow of  that  solitude  we  see  with  a  kindling 
eye  then  a  nearness  that  had  not  come  so  near 
before,  and  we  borrow  the  Lord's  words  again 
when  He  added,  "  Yet  I  am  not  alone,  for  the 
Father  is  with  Me  !"     Another  is  thrust  into 
the  clift  of  bereavement.     The  desire  of  his 
eyes  is  removed  at  a  stroke  ;  the  fairness  and 
the  charm  of  his  home  are  blotted  out.     But 
again,  from  between  the  cold  rocks,  he  sees  an- 
other leaf  turned  over  in  the  Book  of  God 
and  reads  these  letters,  dead  before,    living 
now— '^  Thou  art  the  strength  of  my  heart, 
and  my  portion  for  ever !"     Another  is  with- 
drawn into  the  clift    of  infirmity  and  pain. 


224  WITHIN    THE    CLIFT. 

He  is  like  one  who  has  sailed  hitherto  on  a 
full  and  buoyant  sea,  but  he  would  know 
more  of  God,  and  he  is  summoned,  therefore, 
to  leave  the  busy  deck  of  life,  to  land  alone 
upon  the  shore,  and  then,  getting  him  as  unto 
the  imprisonment  of  iron  rocks,  to  lie  still  on 
his  bed  like  an  abandoned  waif,  while  the 
great  life-current  outside  flows  past,  and  the 
company  in  which  he  had  an  energetic  part  is 
borne  from  him  on  its  way  and  is  gone.  It 
is  a  bitter  solitude  and  helplessness ;  yet, 
through  the  lattice  of  his  pain,  presently  again 
so  blessed  is  the  breaking  in  upon  him  of  the 
Saviour-God,  that,  in  the  tenderness  and  joy 
of  that  countenance  he  seems  as  if  he  never 
knew  before,  he  cries,  in  the  sublime  content 
of  Paul  when,  helpless  in  liis  prison,  "As 
always,  so  noio  also,  Christ  shall  be  magnified 
in  my  body,  w^hether  it  be  by  life  or  by 
death  !"  Another,  once  more,  is  shut  into 
the  clift  of  death ;  for  to  some  Christ  will  not 
appear  in  the  daylight  of  life.  His  form  per- 
petually fades  there,  and  it  needs  the  over- 
shadowing of  the  grave,  that,  in  His  vividness 


WITHIN    THE    CLIFT.  225 

and  glorious  beauty,  He  may  appear;  so 
some,  who  pray  to  know  God,  must  die  for 
that  knowledge'  sake  ;  they  must  leave  all, 
and  break  all  ties,  and  withdraw  into  the  dark 
rest ;  but  then  tliere^  there  breaks  on  them  in 
Christ  the  near  blessedness  of  heaven,  and 
they  sink,  like  Paul,  again,  saying,  ''  To  die 
is  gain!" 

Is  it  not  the  case  then,  my  reader,  that,  as 
heavenward  pilgrims,  w^e  should  realise  with 
fear  the  law  that  binds  us  ?  We  are  in  the 
current,  and  cannot  bid  the  river  stand  still. 
We  have  put  our  hand  to  the  plough,  and  can- 
not look  back.  Our  whole  life  and  prayers, 
if  they  have  one  ring  of  truth  in  them,  "  cry 
out  for  God,  even  the  living  God — when  shall 
we  come  and  appear  before  God  ?"  And  if, 
in  reply,  God  selects  for  us  the  shattered  rock, 
and  in  its  clifts,  as  in  a  lone  watching  spot, 
constrains  us  by  His  hand  that,  while  He  in 
His  glory  passes  by,  we  may  see — we  must 
remember  it  is  we  who  have  challenged  Him 
to  the  venture — that,  if  the  pathway  of  the 
Cross  is  to  be  followed,  we  cannot  avoid  such 

10* 


226  WITHIN    THE    CLIFT. 

crises,  and  that,  only  from  a  spot  so  hemmed 
in,  darkness  round  us,  isolation  in  the  very 
heart — only  from  within  the  clift  can  we,  as 
at  a  condensing  focus-point,  see,  most  in- 
tensely, the  living  God.  Oh,  the  difierence 
between  our  former  knowledge  and  this 
deeper  shewing  us,  even  at  great  cost,  of 
Christ's  glory  1  Would  any  one  lose  it  who, 
even  at  the  great  cost,  has  gained  it?  The 
preacher  talked  of  Christ  before,  but,  coming 
from  between  the  clift,  his  phrases  burn  now. 
The  wayfarer  read  the  guiding  verses  of  his 
Bible  reverently  before,  but,  coming  from  be- 
tween the  clift,  he  finds  they  speak  to  him 
direct  from  Heaven  now.  The  worshipper 
prayed  in  still  mood  before,  but,  coming  from 
between  the  clift,  his  prayers  are  lit  with  the 
very  thrill  of  the  Spirit  now.  Life,  that  was 
before  dull  and  gray,  teems  with  the  comings 
and  tlie  goings  of  the  blessed  Feet  now.  The 
Lord  Jesus  "  stands  behind  our  wall,"  "  He 
looks  forth  upon  us  through  our  lattice."  We 
detect  Him  "  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,"  aud 
''  in  the  secret  places  of  the  stars."     We-  see 


WITHIN    THE    CLIFT.  227 

perpetually  "  the  countenance  that  is  comely," 
we  hear  "the  voice  that  is  sweet."  Shall  we 
not,  then,  again  and  again,  pray  the  high 
prayer  of  Moses — ^"  We  beseech  Thee,  shew 
us  Thy  glory  ?"  He  may  put  us  in  the  wild 
and  narrow  clift ;  but  much  as  flesh  and  blood 
may  fear,  neither  the  place,  nor  the  spectacle 
we  are  to  look  on,  need  ever  shake  us  at 
heart,  for  in  Christ  Jesus  we  have  the  sure 
shelter  and  the  sure  promises  of  God  for  ever. 

"  Sprinkled  with  His  atoning  blood 
Safely  before  our  God  we  stand, 
As  on  the  rock  the  prophet  stood 
Beneath  His  shadowing  hand." 


XVIII. 

wht  mm  im. 

When  Moses  reached  the  plain  again,  the 
signet  fire  of  God  burned  in  his  face.  He 
had  caught  its  impress  first  from  within  the 
clift,  when,  as  we  may  suppose,  after  listening 
to  the  name  and  the  passing  by  of  that 
glorious  One  he  sought,  his  ardor  grew  unre- 
strainable,  and,  thrusting  aside,  if  I  may  say 
so,  the  screen  of  cloud,  he  plunged  his  gaze 
forward  into  the  wave  of  retreating  light. 
In  that  moment,  the  baptism  of  God's  exceed- 
ing fairness  had  been  left  upon  him.  But  he 
had  further  been  a  second  forty  days  and 
forty  nights  in  rapt  conference  with  God; 
and,  in  that  space,  the  upraised  brow  had 
caught  clearer  yet  the  heavenly  seal.  When, 
therefore,  he  appeared  coming  down  the  slope 
of  Sinai,  this  divine  nimbus  rested  on  him. 
He  himself  wist  not  of  it ;  but  Aaron  and  the 

22S 


THE    VEILED    FACE.  229 

people  shrank  from  his  presence  with  fear. 
They  could  not  abide  on  their  common  sight 
even  this  fragment  glow  of  the  invisible.  So, 
while  Moses  stood  amongst  them,  wonder- 
ingly,  no  doubt,  and  showed  them  the  two 
new  stone  tables  of  the  law  in  his  hands,  and 
rehearsed  to  them  all  God  had  spoken,  he  was 
obliged  to  put  a  veil  upon  his  face,  to  shade 
and  all  but  to  hide  the  unearthliness  of  that 
light  he  had  unconsciously  drawn  after  him 
out  of  the  realms  of  God.  He  moved  about 
and  talked  amongst  the  people,  veiled.  When 
he  turned  in  to  meet  the  Most  High  in  His 
tabernacle,  he  took  the  veil  off,  for  there  light 
but  met  and  bathed  itself  anew  in  light ;  but 
always  again  when  he  came  forth  into  the 
camp,  he  dropped  the  shade  on  his  brow,  so 
that  the  poorest  Israelite  might  look  on  him 
and  fear  him  not. 

We  all  can  conceive  how  this  radiant  burn- 
ing on  the  face  of  Moses  came  about.  Even 
in  ordinary  occurrence  we  are  taught  how  it 
must  have  been  so.  We  see  how,  in  animated 
conversation,  light  kindled  by  the  glow  of 


230  THE    VEILED    FACE. 

mind  on  one  face  communicates  itself  to 
another.  Or  in  the  companionship  of  such 
love  as  that  between  parent  and  child,  how 
the  smile  of  penetrative  tenderness  in  the  one 
sheds  its  beauty  on  the  half  Avorshipping  eyes 
and  uplifted  brow  of  the  other.  Or  how,  in 
a  great  assemblage,  when  the  preacher  mounts 
in  the  passion  of  his  theme,  the  audience  bor- 
rows from  his  deep-stirred  fire,  and  the  mass 
of  hitherto  calm  faces  ranged  before  him  of 
a  sudden  ripples,  rank  over  rank,  with  light. 
Or,  in  the  more  solemn  experience  of  men, 
when,  as  with  Stephen,  the  spirit  is  about  to 
part  into  the  dark  elements,  how  death  has 
been  rebuked  even  at  the  last  moment  by  a 
grander  mastery,  the  dying  gaze  has  fastened 
on  the  heaven  open,  and  the  Son  of  Man 
standing  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  and  the 
face  has  shone  as  it  were  the  face  of  an  angel ! 
How  easy,  then,  to  judge  that  Moses,  admitted 
for  so  long  to  the  very  fount  of  God,  moved 
so  long  by  the  very  speech  and  by  the  very 
thrill  of  God,  should  have  come  down  from 
Sinai  as  he  did,  fraught  with   the   flush  of 


THE    VEILED    FACE.  231 

heaven.  The  soul  first  had  glowed  through 
its  depths  in  response  to  God,  and  from 
the  soul  the  quick  flame  had  streamed  into 
the  face. 

So  it  should  not  have  been  unexpected  on 
the  Israelites'  part  that  their  leader  should 
have  borne  down  with  him  that  glory  from 
the  unseen.  Yet  the  atmosphere  of  earth  was 
too  thick  upon  them,  and  their  eyes  too  feeble 
because  of  that,  to  bear  the  test,  so  that  they 
could  not  steadfastly  behold  it ;  wherefore 
Moses,  to  the  people's  loss  undoubtedly,  yet 
wisely  and  with  considerateness,  screened 
himself  behind  his  veil.  Had  he  persisted  in 
carrying  about  through  the  camp  the  naked 
dazzling  of  his  presence,  he  would  not  only 
have  dismayed  and  repelled  the  people,  but 
in  the  end  he  would  have  brought  scorn  on 
the  seal  of  God  through  his  very  vanity ;  but 
he  threw  the  wise  and  tempering  veil  over 
all,  and,  through  that,  while  he  drew  the 
people,  he  preserved  God's  marvel  wrought 
on  him  still  sacred  in  their  deepest  fear. 

Can  we  not  feel,  my  reader,  and  applaud 


232  THE    VEILED    FACE. 

the  rare  self-denying  wisdom  of  Moses'  way  ? 
Perhaps,  had  we  stood  by  his  side,  we  should 
have  been  eager  that  he  would  have  stripped 
the  veil,  at  all  cost,  aside,  on  the  plea,  that 
God's  gift,  so  signal,  should  not  be  concealed, 
but  brought  to  open  day ;  just  as,  in  the  im- 
patience, and,  we  may  add,  the  imprudence 
of  our  own  first  impulse  now,   if  men  have 
bestowed  on  them  speciahgrace  from  heaven, 
we  deem  it  to  be  of  the  next  necessity  that 
they   thrust   its    tale   vehemently   upon   the 
world.    We  cannot  think  there  is  any  measure 
to  be  kept  in  bearing  such  a  testimony — the 
grace  itself  is  so  exceedingly  precious,  and 
the  world  round  us  so  needful  of  its  light; 
and,  accordingly,  there   have  been  those  in 
all  periods  of  the  Church  who  have  held  it 
sacred  duty  to  unveil  the  profoundest  expe- 
riences and  emotions  of  the  soul,  and  to  set 
these   broad   before    the    outer  and  profane 
gaze — it  is  to  be  feared,  at  heavy  cost.     For 
what  do  we  find,  as  to  the  understanding,  in 
the  world,  of  the  spiritual  kingdom  of  our 
God  ?     Paul   declared    long    ago    that    the 


THE    VEILED    FACE.  233 

natural  man — that  is,  he  who  is,  in  his  dark- 
ness, without  any  point  of  capacity  or  kind- 
ling between  him  and  the  light  of  God — 
cannot^  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  discern  it ; 
to  the  Jews  it  was  a  stumbling-block  ;  to  the 
Greeks,  foolishness.  And  again  and  again  it 
has  been  demonstrated,  that  the  light  of  that 
kingdom  is  too  strong  in  its  naked  power  for 
the  ordinary  vision.  We  feel  it  instinctively 
when,  letting  off  restraint  from  the  welling 
of  our  own  soul,  we  sometimes  are  betrayed 
into  pouring  spiritual  confidence  into  ears 
that  do  not  understand  us,  and  revealing 
heart-thoughts  to  eyes  that  look  only  to  be 
amazed,  or  by  their  cold  unconcern  to  make 
us  shrink ;  and  we  feel  it  instinctively  when, 
in  the  society  of  our  time,  if  we  but  openly 
word  something  bearing  on  the  kingdom  of  a 
present  Lord — if  we  turn  aside  the  conversa- 
tion that  startling  way — if  we  but  lift  a  corner 
of  the  veil — men  withdraw  from  us  as  though 
they  had  seen  a  spectre.  It  is  laying  bare 
too  much  at  once.  It  is  letting  in  light  so 
suddenly  and  so  sharply,  that  it  strikes  on  the 


234  THE    VEILED    FACE. 

unaccustomed  eyeballs  with  pain ;  as  we  have 
it  related  of  a  poor  captive,  when  released 
from  a  dungeon  in  which  he  had  lain  many 
years,  and  in  whose  black  night  he  had  lost 
the  memory  of  upper  day,  brought  up  sud- 
denly into  the  glare  of  noon,  his  eyeballs 
meeting  it  were  so  struck  with  anguish,  that, 
hiding  them,  and  fleeing  back  to  his  prison, 
he  cried  that  he  might  be  buried  in  its 
depths  again.  So  most  untaught  minds  in 
the  world  cannot  meet  the  outburst  of  God ; 
they  are  offended  by,  and  they  fear,  its  pres- 
ence. And  if  you  are  to  win  your  way  as 
Moses  did  through  the  camp  of  Israel,  you 
will  not  rend  the  shade  aside,  but  rather  tem- 
per it  the  more,  if  need  be,  even  holding 
back  the  light  of  God,  and  putting  a  veil 
upon  its  face. 

We  cannot,  therefore,  I  think,  but  confirm 
what  Moses  did  as  the  wiser  part.  Our  Lord 
walked  in  the  selfsame  way.  From  His  cra- 
dle in  Bethlehem,  to  His  grave  in  the  garden 
— nay,  to  His  rising  in  the  cloud  of  ascension 
into  heaven — His  life  was  a  veiled,  and,  as  it 


THE   VEILED    FACE.  235 

were,    a  suppressed  life.       The  very  fulness 
of  the  Godhead  dwelt  in  Him  bodily ;  but  it 
was  only  now  and  then,  at  chinks  and  rents 
in  the  curtain,  the  glory  streamed  out.     Even 
to  His  near  disciples.  He  was  chary  of  disclos- 
ing more  than  glimpses — as  on  the  Mount  of 
Transfiguration,  when  the  veil  for  a  minute 
melted,  and  the  flame   shot  forth — or  as  in 
His  resurrection  days,  when  sudden  intima- 
tions from  Him,  as  it  were  touches  from   be- 
hind the  veil,  made  their  hearts  burn  within 
them.     His  life,  I  repeat,  was  a  life,  not  of 
dazzling  wonderment,  as  it  might  well  enough 
have  been,  but  of  deep-shaded,  well-nigh  hid- 
den  light.     And   who   does   not  know  how 
such  holy  wisdom  was  justified  in  its  results 
— how  that  life  stole  in  upon  the  world — how 
the  handful  of  leaven  wrought  silently  for  the 
leavening  of  the  whole  lump — how  the  little 
seed  took  root,  and  silently  came  up  and  rose 
into  the  tree  that  shall  yet  be  the  covert  of 
the   whole    earth?       In   like    manner,    after 
Christ's  holy  way,  all  who  have  come  doing 
His  work,   find  their  gain  in  tempering  in 


236  THE    VEILED    FACE. 

themselves  the  fire  of  heaven — ^in  letting  their 
light  shine,  it  is  true,  according  to  His  com- 
mand, but  "50  shine''  as  that  it  may  fall  on 
the  gaze  of  men  unstartling  and  unrepellent 
— in  measure  as  men  can  bear,  subdued  to 
the  weak,  stronger  in  its  brilliance  to  the 
strong — but  never,  I  suppose,  excepf  when  a 
man  turns  in  his  privacy  to  converse  with 
God — never  with  the  veil  wholly  taken  away. 
Will  not  the  teacher  or  the  parent,  for  exam- 
ple, find  that  the  work  of  moulding  and 
drawing  to  himself  the  young  minds  about 
him,  is  done,  out  of  all  question,  best,  when 
he  studies  less  the  direct  bearing  in  upon 
them  of  sharp  precept,  and  intense  exhorta- 
tion, and  repeated  insisting  on  rule  and  right 
— when  rather  he  puts  aside  the  manner  of 
directness,  veils  the  strong  light,  and  lets  his 
own  silent  unconscious  life  speak  for  him,  his 
own  example  tell,  the  slipping  out  of  a  ray 
of  feeling  here,  and  a  thrill  of  influence  there, 
send  home  lessons  whole  discourses  could  not 
teach?  The  manner  of  incessant  rule  and 
precept  not  seldom  spoils  his  whole  end,  by 


THE    VEILED    FACE.  237 

its  being,  to  the  young  heart,  light  too  much 
and  intolerable;  whereas  the  life  influence, 
indirectly  shed,  is  that  very  enchantment 
through  which  young  hearts  most  are  won. 
And  will  not  the  preacher  find  that,  while  he 
is  eloquent  and  earnest  in  his  pulpit  speech — 
unwearied  in  his  labors  and  his  teachings  in 
and  out  amongst  his  flock — there  is  a  far 
deeper  force  which  constrains  them  most,  and 
without  which  his  high  ends  are  always  more 
or  less  lost,  and  that  is — the  silent  power 
breathed  from  the  veiled  yet  felt  beauty  of 
his  life  ?  His  strong  appeals  from  the  pulpit 
may  burn,  and  perhaps  for  the  time  arouse  ; 
but  this,  the  holiness,  the  gentleness,  the  love- 
liness that  are  shed  from  him  in  his  home, 
and  that  cannot  choose  but  gleam  out  in 
quiet  touches  wheresoever  he  is  found  ; — this 
it  is  that  steals  into  the  universal  heart.  And 
so  with  any  effort  for  our  blessed  Lord 
amongst  men.  The  strong  outburst  of  speech 
and  deed  is  undoubtedly  of  value,  and  it  is 
what  we  stake  our  faith  and  hopes  on  most, 
because   it  is  a  demonstration   palpable    to 


238  THE    VEILED    FACE. 

sense  ;  but  it  is  far  transcended,  if  we  but 
knew  it,  by  that  charm  in  a  good  man's  life, 
which,  as  a  veiled  light,  Avins  unconsciously 
upon  us,  till  we  by  and  by  realise  it,  and  ex- 
claim, "  God  was  in  this  thing,  and  I  knew  it 
not!" 

And  yet  one  would  think  no  principle  is 
surer  and  plainer  than  that  of  the  high  efficacy 
of  veiled  or  suppressed  power.      Nature  illu- 
mines this  principle  in  all  her  borders  ;  it  is 
not  by  the  hurricane  sweep  baring  her  majes- 
tic strength  that  her  deepest  or  most  perma- 
nent efforts  are  wrought,  but  by  the  veiled 
footfalls  of  the  dew,  by  the  silent   sunshine, 
by  the  hundred  touches  men  know  not  of, 
nature  quickens  all  her  growth,  and  covers  all 
the  earth  with  life  and  fruit  and  color.      The 
orator  knows  the  value  of  suppressed  power 
— what  it   is   to  breathe   on  his   audience's 
heart  to  the  verge  of  passion,  and  then,  leav- 
ing them  with  that  thrill,  to  drop  the  veil 
again.     So  does  the  skilled  book — it  exhausts 
nothing ;  you  feel  it  glows  with  thought,  but 
it  is    thought   enchaining  you    by  that,  the 


THE    VEILED    FACE.  239 

highest  of  all  power — its  glow  half  revealed, 
yet  half  concealed.      An  hundred  things  tes- 
tify the  same  truth.      The   escaped  stream, 
compressed  into  one  narrow  sluice,  in  its  rush 
through  that  channel  has  a  power  that  would 
be  lost  were  the  bank  broken  and  the  whole 
waters  scattered  in  a  broad  but  shallow  bed. 
The  fire  caught  in  the  furnace  chimney  roars 
with   strength,  that,  were  it  released  in  the 
open  field,    would   disperse  and  fade.     The 
loop-hole  ray  of  light  falling  on  a  dark  pic- 
ture wakens  an  effect  that  in  the  full  inlet  of 
day  Avould   be  destroyed.     The  rule,    then, 
my  reader,  is  the  same  as  regards  our  gifts 
from  Heaven.     We  shall  best  use  them  in  a 
reserved  way,  as  did  Moses  with  the  flame  he 
caught  upon  the  mount.     Certainly  I  would 
mean  no  compromise  with  lower  things  for 
one  moment,  and  no  suppression  of  the  grace 
of  God  in  us  from  that  fear  of  man  which  we 
are  well  assured  brings  a  snare ;  but  I  mean 
that  quiet  life  which  puts  itself  forth  only  so 
far  as  it  can  "  commend  the  truth  to  every 
man's  conscience  in  the  sight  of  God" — which 


240  THE    VEILED    FACE. 

has  regard  to  every  opportunity  aPxd  circum- 
stance and  risk — which  moves  its  veil  aside 
and  lets  its  illumining  fall  fuller  here,  say  in 
its  own  family  circle  or  in  converse  with  its 
friends — which  draws  the  shade  again  and 
makes  softer  light  there,  say  in  miscellaneous 
society  or  in  the  cold  circle  of  public  gaze — 
which  is  thus  intuitively  thoughtful  and  wise 
in  its  own  deep  modesty — jealous- that  God's 
gift  in  it  shall  not  on  the  one  hand  repel,  shall 
not,  on  the  other  hand,  be  so  exposed  and 
made  so  common  as  to  draw  contempt — ar- 
dent, on  the  contrary,  that  it  may  so  live  be- 
hind its  veil,  now  shedding  forth  a  gleam  of 
power,  again  retreating  into  shadow,  as  that 
even  in  an  evil  world  it  may  gain  tolerance 
from  all,  it  may,  in  its  true  presence  of  God 
within  it  and  about  it,  hush  the  unbelief  of  all, 
it  may,  by  its  suppressed  yet  vivid  charm, 
draw  many  insensibly  to  the  feet  of  Christ. 
Such  is  what  I  mean  :  where  the  unveiled 
light,  paraded  vehemently  in  the  cause  of 
God,  fails,  the  veiled  hght,  moving  gently 
like   the    wise,    thoughtful    steps   of    Moses 


THE    VEILED    FACE.  241 

through   the  camp  of   Israel,  wins   the  vic- 
tory. 

I  know  that  it  is  irksome  to  the  thought  of 
not  a  few,  that  their  souls  should  be  bound 
up  by  any  restraint  in  the  service  of  their 
Lord.  They  are  as  those  who  have  a  fire 
within  their  bones,  a  woe  upon  their  heads, 
if  they  preach  not  the  gospel ;  seeing  that  their 
time  is  short,  therefore,  they  demand  expres- 
sion of  the  most  eager  and  unhampered  kind. 
Yet  I  will  venture  to  say  that,  with  that  spir- 
itual intensity  in  them,  longing  to  be  rid  of 
its  own  tale,  while  it  is  God's  will  first  to  kin- 
dle it,  it  is  God's  will  and  wisdom  further, 
that  it  be  not  vented  forth  in  indiscriminate 
fire — rather  that  a  power  be  exercised  of  re- 
taining the  torture  in  the  bones,  only  let- 
ting out  a  shoot  of  expression  here  and 
another  there,  but  not  the  whole  pent-up 
fire,  since  the  pent-up  fire,  once  let  loose, 
would  burn  out  once  for  all,  but  so  retained, 
becomes  to  itself  a  perpetual  stimulus— gives 
each  outshot  flame  a  more  vivid  strength,  and 

holds  its  heart  set  on  God  in  deeper  power. 

11 


242  THE    VEILED    FACE. 

Those  know  this  who  are  abashed  by  the  pres- 
ence of  imgenial  elements  on  some  occasion 
or  other  wheathey  do  long  to  stand  forth  and 
speak  their  whole  soul  for  God  ;  but  instead 
of  that  they  are  flung  back  upon  themselves, 
tongue-tied  and  miserable.  Yet  probably  it 
is  better  in  the  case  it  should  be  so,  for  the 
heart,  unrelieved,  only  burns  all  the  more 
ardently  to  tell  its  burden  forth  again.  And 
those  again  know  it  who  have  been  made  the 
prisoners  of  God's  dealings — who  have  had 
their  strength  broken  in  its  noon — who,  with 
great  ambition  to  be  heralds  of  the  Cross,  and 
with  much  in  Christ's  name  to  preach,  and  a 
whole  life  of  eager  energies  in  them  to  pour 
forth,  yet  are  thrust  aside  in  the  midst,  are 
made  to  bow  to  the  yoke  of  feebleness  and 
pain,  and  while  they  fain  would  be  up  and  in 
the  battle,  must  lie  down  in  fruitless  longing 
on  their  beds.  Yet  it  is  God  teaching  over 
again  the  lesson  of  the  veiled  light.  Even  in 
your  time  of  helplessness,  and,  as  you  think, 
your  uselessness,  my  reader,  God  breathes  on 
the  confined  flame  more  closely  at  the  heart ; 


THE    VEILED    FACE.  243 

\ 

its  own  longing  after  Him  and  His  work  feeds 
it  the  more ;  if  He  hinders  it  outwardly  and 
checks  it  by  the  veil  on  it  of  the  weak  body 
and  the  broken  powers,  it  is  only  that  He  may 
keep  it  and  intensify  it  into  the  very  consum- 
ing of  His  love.  Oh,  trust  God,  therefore,  in 
the  restraints  He  imposes  on  His  own  gifts ! 
He  in  His  divine  tenderness  and  wisdom 
knows  best  when  we  should  glow  forward 
into  light — when  we  should  sink  back  and  be 
shaded  in  the  darkness ;  only,  behind  the 
hindering  veil  that  in  one  shape  or  other  must 
always  be  flung  on  us  while  we  are  on  earth, 
behind  that  veil  let  it  be  more  and  more  ours 
to  cherish  God's  Spirit — to  keep  the  light 
strong  and  pure.  And  we  have  this  blessed 
resource  always,  that,  suppressed  without  as 
to  men,  we  are  never  suppressed  inwardly  as 
to  God ;  the  veil  upon  the  face,  darkening  us 
to  the  world's  sight,  may  be  torn  off  the  face, 
and  the  face  without  a  shadow  when  we  turn 
to  pour  the  heart  out  in  His  sight,  like  Moses 
when  he  put  the  veil  off  always  as  he  entered 
the  tabernacle,  and  in  the  Presence  there  re- 


244  THE    VEILED    FACE. 

y 

strained  the  light  upon  his  face  no  more.  So 
what  we  cannot  speak,  the  grief  we  cannot 
syllable,  the  longings  we  cannot  find  scope 
for,  the  sickness  of  heart-love  we  cannot  dis- 
burthen  to  the  world ;  all  these  we  can  utter 
in  a  flood  to  God — we  have  always  our  refuge 
there.  When  we  are  alone  with  Him  we  can 
let  the  fire  leap  up  unrestrainedly  ;  we  need 
no  longer  stint  words  to  tell  how  our  heart 
breaketh  for  the  longing  thereof ;  in  the  ful- 
ness of  love,  unsatisfied  in  all  else,  but  satisfied 
in  Him,  we  can  say  out  at  last,  "  Thou  art  all 
my  salvation,  and  all  my  desire  I" 


XIX. 

The  tabernacle  was  by  this  time  pitched  on 
the  broad  plain  fronting  Sinai,  and  all  its  holy 
garniture  was  complete  :  the  Shekinah  burned 
on  the  interior  mercy-seat,  and  the  cloud  of 
God's  presence  rose  above  the  tabernacle 
roof  For  the  priestly  services  Aaron  and 
his  sons  were  elaborately  set  apart  ;  and, 
after  seven  days  of  ceremonial  consecration, 
on  the  eighth  day  they  came,  in  sight  of  the 
assembled  people,  to  the  first  performance  of 
their  high  functions.  In  his  gorgeous  dress 
Aaron  was  led  through  the  sanctuary  by  the 
privileged  hand  of  Moses — the  latter  holding 
a  place  with  Heaven  even  loftier  than  a  high 
priest's  office  could  bestow.  Thereafter,  the 
sacred  rites  in  the  Holy  of  Holies  done,  they 
reappeared  together  at  the  tabernacle  door ; 
the  smoke  of  sacrifice  and  the  breath  of  in- 

245 


246  THE   SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE. 

cense  filled  the  air,  and  in  a  vast  circle  the 
Israelite  thousands  looked  in  breathlessly 
upon  the  spot ;  when,  as  the  brothers  threw 
back  the  blazoned  curtain  and  came  forth 
from  God,  suddenly  a  divine  glow  shed  itself 
on  them  and  all  the  place,  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  was  seen,  and  fire  from  heaven  streamed 
on  the  altar,  consuming  its  burnt-offering,  and 
in  its  wavering  and  awful  beauty  teaching 
Israel,  that,  in  this  their  first  sanctuary  wor- 
ship, God  was  well  pleased.  At  the  sight 
the  people  gave  a  great  shout,  and  fell  on 
their  faces. 

But  a  minute  afterwards,  unexpectedly  and 
terribly,  this  pause  of  prostration  was  dis- 
turbed. Nadab  and  Abihu,  two  of  the  sons 
of  Aaron,  who,  along  with  himself,  had  been 
robed  and  anointed  for  the  office  of  the  priest- 
hood, drew  nigh,  bearing  with  them  each  his 
censer.  It  must  have  been  a  singular  infatu- 
ation prompted  their  behavior  next :  for  but 
recently  they  had,  by  express  arrangement, 
been  of  the  chosen  company  who  were  led 
up  on  the  hill-side  to  see  the  vision  of  the 


THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE.  247 

God   of    Israel.     They   had   been    witnesses 
then  of  the  splendor  of  the  Most  High  :  and 
now,  not  less  marked  by  favor,  they  stood  in 
a  place  second  only  to  their  father  Aaron  in 
these   sublime    tabernacle   rites ;   and  before 
their  very  eyes  there  played  over  the  altar's 
face  the  flame  from  heaven.     One  would  have 
imagined,  therefore,  that,  if  they  must  burn 
their  pots  of  incense  before  God,  these  two 
men,  of  all  others,  would  have  knelt  down  in 
humbleness   and   faith — would   have    sought 
but  to   catch    one   lambent    touch   from    the 
divine  fire,  and,  with  that  kindling,  to  have 
then  held  out  their  steaming  vessels  in  offer- 
ing to  God.     But,  strangely  presumptuous,  or 
unbelieving,  or  negligent  of  any  value    the 
heavenly  could  have  over  the  earthly,  they 
struck,  in  their  censers^  the  light  of  common 
fire  ;  they  passed  the  altar  flame  by,  and  they 
dared,  perhaps  without  any  great  conscience 
of  their  sin,  to  present  themselves  and  their 
offering  thus  on  the  holy  ground.     In  a  mo- 
ment they  were  rebuked  beyond  penitence  or 
rescue ;  the  fire  of  God's  anger  leaped  forth, 


248  THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE. 

and  in  its  sharp,  noiseless  gleam,  as  it  were 
the  gleam  of  lightning,  slew  them  where  they 
stood.  Not  one  word  of  mnrmur  rose  from 
Israel:  even  the  horror-stricken  father  felt 
the  deed  of  God  was  righteous  ;  for  as  Moses, 
looking  on  the  scathed  corpses,  vindicated 
the  holy  precincts  and  the  holy  way  of  God, 
it  is  afPectingly  added,  "  Aaron  held  his 
peace  !"  Nor  could  the  brothers  of  the  slain 
men  so  much  as  touch  them  or  carry  them 
forth  ;  the  pollution  of  the  dead  could  not  be 
left  on  their  consecrated  robes  or  persons ; 
and  while  other  kinsmen  did  the  ghastly 
office,  carrying  the  bodies  in  their  coats 
through  the  appalled  groups  of  Israel  and 
out  of  the  camp,  Aaron  and  these  other  sons 
were,  by  the  stern,  and  yet,  as  they  must 
have  felt,  the  truly  thoughtful,  command  of 
Moses,  forbidden  even  to  give  one  sign  of 
grief,  or  to  step  one  pace  out  of  the  taber- 
nacle bounds,  lest  they  too  should  die. 

Was  the  death  of  Nadab  and  Abihu,  then, 
not  a  cruel  stroke  pitilessly  disproportioned 
to  their  sin?  or  if  not,  how  do  we  explain 


THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE.  249 

that  what  seems,  at  first  glance,  and  reckoned 
by  an  ordinary  standard,  a  sin  so  venial,  was 
yet  punished  so  swiftly  and  wrathfully  at  the 
hand  of  God?  We  can,  without  hesitation, 
answer :  God's  doom  was  just ;  Moses  ex- 
claimed it  was  so ;  and  Aaron,  moved  as  he 
must  have  been  by  the  spectacle  of  his  own 
two  children  dead  in  their  manhood  and  in 
their  priestly  honors  at  his  feet,  allowed  it 
was  so  in  the  silence  of  his  heart.  And  the 
reason  simply  was,  that,  in  proportion  to  the 
sacredness  of  the  scene  and  the  height  of  the 
solemnity  in  which  the  offenders  stood,  so 
necessarily  was  the  heinousness  of  their  sin. 
One  speck  on  the  brilliance  of  the  steel  mir- 
ror, one  stain  on  the  snow-white  garment,  are 
more  than  the  darkest  flaw  on  a  common 
metal,  or  the  foulest  blot  on  a  dress  weather- 
beaten  and  worn.  For  the  sin  of  strange 
fire,  little  as  it  seemed  in  common  thought, 
was  a  spot  of  contempt,  or  unbelief,  or  reck- 
lessness, or  call  it  what  we  will,  flung  on  the 
pure  ineffable  front  of  God's  worship— and 
that  worship  too  in  its  first  unfolding  of  a 


250  THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE. 

dread  ceremonial  to  the  eyes  of  Israel.  It 
was  a  sin  therefore  whose  circumstances 
aggravated  it  into  the  blackness  of  daring 
crime :  considering  the  occasion,  and  the  mo- 
ment, and  the  favored  and  instructed  men 
who  were  the  transgressors,  it  was  a  sin  that 
became  more  intense  in  guilt  an  hu»dredfold 
than  even  deep  moral  crime,  perpetrated  on 
common  ground,  and  by  wretched  workers 
of  wickedness,  who,  in  untaught  misery  of 
their  lives,  might  know  no  better.  While  for 
the  latter  there  might  be  the  plea  of  igno- 
rance, and  a  relenting  and  a  pity  might  be 
drawn  from  heaven,  for  the  sin  of  strange  fire,  • 
in  its  wilfulness  and  daringness  and  perfect 
light  of  knowledge  round  it,  there  could  be 
no  place  of  mercy  ;  it  was  simply  of  a  right- 
eous necessity  that  the  offerers  of  the  outrage 
on  God  should  die. 

We  are  not  invested  with  the  same  sort  of 
priestly  character  and  attribute  as  were  these 
hapless  two  slain  at  the  altar;  nevertheless, 
we  minister  behind  the  shadow  of  our  one 
great   High   Priest,    Jesus    Christ,   and    the 


THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE,  251 

ground  we  stand  ou,  as  in  service  and  wor- 
ship we  draw  near  God  thus  in  our  modern 
day,  is  as  holy  and  perilous  as  was  the  sacred 
circle  round  the  tabernacle  threshold  where 
Nadab  and  Abihu  fell.  Are  ive  always 
moved  by  the  memory  of  their  sin  and  fate  ? 
And  do  we  think  what  we  do  when,  like 
them,  we  stand  with  our  censers  of  ministry 
before  God?  Shall  we  look  what  kind  of 
glow  it  is  flashes  in  the  pot  ?  Shall  we  exam- 
ine conscience  on  the  subject,  and  find  out 
how  much  in  the  ministry  and  work  of  God 
there  mingle  an  hundred  impurities  of  motive 
— how  much  mere  seeming  fire,  how  cold  as 
dead  ashes  the  secret  heart — how  much  the 
occasion  is  seized  for  the  figuring  of  intellect- 
ual display — how  much  for  mere  self-seeking, 
vanity,  craving  to  be  seen  and  heard  of  men 
— how  many  ingredients  of  common  worldly 
passion  are  sown  through  the  soul  in  the  un- 
sanctified  existence  of  ordinary  days — the 
very  soul  that  presents  itself  as  the  highest 
vessel  of  the  congregation,  charged,  to  ap- 
pearance, with  the  fire  of  God's  Spirit  in  the 


252  THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE. 

solemn  worship  of  the  Lord's-clay  ?  Is  the 
burning  in  such  a  vessel  a  burning  of  earth,  or 
of  heaven — is  it  a  fire  so  strange  to  God  that 
not  even  a  breath  of  prayer  has  blown  it  at 
its  lighting  up — or  is  it  that  the  clear  lam- 
bency of  God's  Spirit,  borrowed  from  His 
holy  altar,  "incense  and  a  pure  offering," 
with  which  He  is  well  pleased  ?  Alas,  alas  ! 
I  do  not  think  conscience  can  stand  much 
deep  catechising  on  this  dread  subject  with- 
out blenching.  If  it  spoke  true,  I  fear  it 
would  tell  that,  over  the  broad  surface  of  the 
Church  at  this  day,  if,  of  all  those  ten  thou- 
sand lights  kept  alive,  and  many  of  them 
splendidly  lustrous,  at  the  altars  of  the  Most 
High  God,  those  were  watered  down  that 
have  caught  their  inspiration,  not  from  the 
fire  of  Heaven  above,  but  from  some  false  hu- 
man fire  stirred  below,  light  on  light  would 
unexpectedly  go  out,  the  scene  so  blazoned 
now  would  change  into  a  waste  of  extinct 
censers,  many  an  eloquent  pulpit  would  be 
dumb,  many  a  front  rank  service  would  drop 
back  to  liidiB  its  head.     And,  if  yo\\  looked 


THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE.  253 

where  the  true  lights  kept  glowing  palely  but 
serenely  here  and  there,  you  would  find  them 
probably,  not  in  the  place  of  some  gorgeous 
ceremonial,  or  under  some  noble  church  roof, 
or  in  the  footsteps  of  some  signally-gifted  life 
— these  might  be  spots  of  strewn  ashes  merely 
— while  the  pure  flame  of  God  might  be 
found  most  in  the  meeting-place  of  some  sim- 
ple but  true  worship,  in  the  piety  and  faith  of 
some  holy  but  nameless  hearts.  Indeed,  when 
one  but  glances  into  the  depth  of  his  own 
ambitions — the  hundred  considerations  that  in 
God's  work  have  stimulated  him,  arising  out 
of  earth  and  self,  and  the  small,  faint  quicken- 
ing he  has  given  entrance  to  from  heaven — 
he  cannot  but  fear  lest  God's  patience  should 
be  done  with  him — ^lest  the  mercy  that  has 
borne  with  so  much  aifront  offered  against 
the  very  presence  of  the  holy  God  and  in  the 
place  of  His  sanctuary  should  be  withdrawn 
at  last,  and  the  soul,  for  its  sin  of  strange  fire, 
should  die.  Could  he  have  contracted  a  worse 
guilt  suppose  he  had  been  some  wretched 
heathen,  bowing  down  to  stocks  and  stones — 


254  THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE. 

or  suppose,  uninstructed  in  his  life,  he  had 
broken  law  by  some  glaring  crime?  Privi- 
leged so  high,  handling  things  so  sacred, 
standing  in  his  sanctity  and  service  so  near 
God,  does  it  not  strike  him  there  is  a  terror  in 
his  sin  of  strange  fire  that  singles  him  out 
with  tenfold  prominence?  Truly,  did  the 
common  eye  have  power  to  see  on  what  a 
brink  he  stands — did  he  himself  but  realise  it 
for  a  moment,  I  think  both  would  shudder 
at  the  sight;  instead  of  sinking  and  com- 
plaining under  the  humblings  and  the  re- 
bukes God^s  hand  often  deals  His  ministers  in 
their  pride,  I  think  he  himself  would  then 
come  to  thank  God  that  he  should  be  chas- 
tised for  his  transgressions — sore  chastised, 
but,  in  that  very  soreness  of  chastisement,  not 
given  over  unto  death — rather  that  it  should 
be  a  token  to  him  of  God's  righting  him  and 
sparing  him  and  making  his  eye  and  heart 
pure,  perhaps  in  great  mercy  to  send  him 
back,  with  heaven-lit  censer,  to  minister  again 
under  the  high  shadow  of  Christ ;  if  not,  to 
teach  him  that,  brought  to  a  right  mind  and 


THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE.  255 

saved  though  by  a  day  of  humiliation  and 
distress  here,  that  is  but  a  light  thing  com- 
pared with  perishing  in  sudden  overthrow 
hereafter ;  for,  my  reader,  if  you  be  in  any 
way  a  minister  of  Christ  and  of  His  work, 
you  cannot  but  rem.ember,  that  the  long  min- 
glings  in  your  censer,  and  the  fires  you  have 
offered  numberlessly  before  Him,  will  pass  in 
terrible  review  again  at  the  altar  of  the  great 
day,  and  that  it  will  then  be  "  a  fearful  thing 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living  God." 

But  it  must  be  further  added,  that  if  all  this 
be  so,  we  have  a  startling  light  indeed  thrown 
on  much  of  our  modern  condition  before  God 
by  the  sin  of  Nadab  and  Abihu.  Who  be- 
lieves in  the  fire  from  heaven  still  coming 
down  and  lighting  on  our  worship  scenes  and 
scattering  itself  in  its  baptism  of  the  Spirit  on 
our  hearts  ?  Who  stakes  his  faith  and  trust 
in  that  simple  but  Divine  element — the  breath 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  ?  Is  it  looked  for  in  ordi- 
nance ?  Do  we  resort  to  our  Bibles  to  find  it 
glow  in  word  and  promise  ?  Do  we  credit  it 
when  it  stirs  abroad,  quickening  and  reviving 


256  THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE. 

the  Church,  converting  sinners,  building  up 
saints?  Do  we  believe  fervently  that  we 
have  this  Spirit  as  the  Lord's  gift  from  heaven 
— that  if  we  come  still  in  the  good  way,  the 
old  path  of  the  shed  blood  of  Jesus,  our 
Church  and  other  altars  do  yet  gleam  with 
this  Spirit  ?  Or  do  many,  many  not  pass  into 
God's  presence  indifferently,  irreverently,  un- 
believingly, to  stand  by  the  old  cistern  but  to 
find  it  dry,  to  stand  by  the  old  hearth  but  to 
find  its  embers  cold,  to  stand  by  the  old  altar 
but  to  find  its  surface  blank  ?  How  can  wor- 
ship acceptable  to  the  living  God,  then,  be 
paid  ?  He  would  bestow  the  fiery  gift  if  He 
saw  but  one  heart  with  simple  faith  raised  to 
heaven ;  but  men  pass  in  and  out  in  worship, 
and  they  either  offer  some  strange  fire  of  feel- 
ing or  of  thought,  or  of  one  knows  not  well 
what,  or  they  carry  with  them  censers  fireless 
altogether  and  dead. 

Hence  in  this  neglect — this  mechanical  dis- 
credit even  many  who  serve  at  the  altar  throw 
on  the  living  power  of  God  from  heaven — 
one  cannot  but  think   there   has  originated 


THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE.  257 

that  kind  of  cool  and  ready  sympathy  of 
many  with  a  great  many  elements  that  are 
obtruded  now-a-days  into  the  circle  of  God's 
worship,  and  that  yet  are  not  by  any  means 
instinct  with  the  fire  of  God's  Spirit — not  so 
much,  indeed,  as  even  touched  by  that  Spirit 
on  their  edge.  The  supernatural  side  of 
worship  is  rationalised  away.  There  are  to 
be  liberal  interpretations  made  of  all  men's 
tenets.  We  are  not  to  deem  even  the  vital 
points  of  the  gospel  such  as  we  are  to  place 
much  importance  by.  We  are  to  make  free 
with  anything  and  everything  in  the  Word  of 
God.  We  are  to  believe  that  there  are  many 
ways  of  devoutly  worshipping  God,  besides 
the  good  old  way  that  now  too  much  is  fallen 
disused  ;  that  God  will  accept  all  honest 
offerings ;  and  there  is  no  necessity  whatever 
hangs  on  the  mysterious  baptism  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  and  of  fire,  so  many  in  their  simple 
faith  have  clung  to  as  all  in  all.  So  by  some 
there  is  a  summary  eliding  at  the  threshold 
of  all  tokens  of  a  heavenly  grace.  By  some 
there  are  easy  freedoms  assumed  as  to  God's 


258  THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE. 

worship,  that  make  all  ordinance  simply  con- 
venient, or,  in  its  presence  or  its  absence, 
wholly  indifferent.  By  some,  moral  worth, 
quite  unstamped  though  it  be  by  the  power 
of  God's  grace,  is  reckoned  an  undoubtedly 
rightful  claimant  on  Heaven — an  offering,  not 
through  the  gospel  channel,  it  is  true,  but  an 
offering  God  will  assuredly  accept.  By  some 
the  gifts  of  genius,  the  glorious  creations  and 
victories  of  mind  in  the  world,  are  pointed 
to,  and  it  is  asked.  Are  these,  though  unbap- 
tized  by  gospel  faith,  to  be  exorcised  out  of 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  ? 

My  reader,  in  reply,  we  simply  fall  back  on 
God's  divine  record.  It  may  sound  a  terrible 
and  sweeping  act  to  cut  off  a  whole  world  of 
mind  and  worth,  and,  in  many  of  its  aspects, 
noble  human  life,  and,  because  it  wants  what 
we  deem  the  one  thing  needful,  to  put  it 
under  ban  of  rejection  in  the  sight  of  God ; 
but  who  has  ever  had  title  to  authorize  a 
relaxing  of  the  clear  appointments  of  His 
Word,  set  forth  clear  in  our  sight  as  the  flame 
til  at  in  Nadab  and  Abihu's  sight  came  down 


THE   SIN    OF    STRANGE    FIRE.  259 

from  heaven  ?  who  has  ever  had  title  to  erase, 
either  half  or  wholly  such  momentous  mat- 
ters as  the  blood  of  Jesus,  as  the  necessary 
life  of  God's  Spirit,  from  the  finger-posts  and 
milestones  on  the  heavenward  path?  who 
ever  has  had  title  given  to  worship  God  in  a 
large  and  negligent  way,  that  omits  God's 
own  prime  condition,  and  yet  boldly  claims 
to  walk  with  any  earth-kindled  fire-censer  on 
that  very  ground  where  Nadab  and  Abihu, 
for  a  like  crime,  perished  ?  Let  us  have  these 
questions  well  answered,  and  we  shall  con- 
cede the  latitude  required ;  but,  until  then, 
we  must  abide  by  the  gospel  at  once  of  "the 
goodness  and  severity  of  God."  We  must  at 
all  risks  stand  in  the  good  way,  and  ask  for 
the  old  paths.  We  must  not  shrink  from  it — 
that  if  men  quench  in  themselves  and  in  their 
worship  the  one  fiery  particle  from  heaven — if 
they  put  the  strange  fire  of  some  will-worship 
in  its  place — however  high  their  endowments 
and  rich  their  life  otherwise,  they  are  utterly 
alien  to  God;  nay,  by  these  very  endow- 
ments, by  the  place  they  stand   in,  by  the 


260  THE    SIN    OF    STRANGE   FIRE. 

awful  sacredness  of  those  things  they  tamper 
with,  so  grievous  is  their  sin  made  before 
God,  that  that  very  fire  of  divine  gift,  which, 
if  they  would  but  borrow  it,  would  blessedly 
awake  the  censers  of  their  offering  and  life 
into  flame,  cannot  but,  as  in  the  case  of  Nadab 
and  Abihu,  one  way  or  other,  leap  forth  upon 
them  that  they  die.  Let  us  fear,  then,  as  we 
enter  into  the  cloud.  Let  us  see  we  have 
Him  who  said,  "  I  the  Lord  thy  God  am  a 
jealous  God,"  to  deal  with  as  we  come.  Let 
us  ask  that  He  Himself  put  the  live  coal  from 
off  the  heavenly  altar  on  our  hearts;  and 
then,  as  we  draw  near,  so  quickened  and 
enkindled,  we  may  never  let  our  eyes  waver 
from  these  two  fore-front  texts  of  Scripture : 
"  Jesus  said,  I  am  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and 
the  Life ;  no  man  cometh  unto  the  Father 
huthy  MeV  And,  "Except  a  man  be  born 
again,  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God !" 


XX. 

At  last,  the  long  sojourn  at  the  foot  of 
Sinai  came  to  an  end  ;  the  tribes  of  Israel 
were  numbered  and  disposed  with  the  regu- 
larity of  an  army ;  the  tabernacle  was  lifted ; 
the  trumpet-signals  given  ;  the  tents  struck, 
and  the  march  forward  into  "the  great  and 
terrible  wilderness "  began.  As  mass  after 
mass  of  the  people  disappeared  through  the 
eastern  defiles,  gradually  silence  and  desertion 
fell  on  a  scene  late  so  astir  with  sublime 
events ;  the  mantle  of  God  was  unrolled  off 
the  high  sides  of  Sinai,  and  presently  that 
mount,  now  memorable  for  ever  in  Israelite 
association  and  story,  was  left  alone,  all  its 
peaks  in  the  sunshine  still  and  bare. 

The  path  struck  out  by  the  Israelites,  under 
the  guidance  of  the  pillared  cloud,  as  well  as 
by  the  lynx-eyed  accuracy  of  Hobab,  Moses' 

261 


262  THE   GRAVES    OF   LUST, 

brother-in-law,  and  a  denizen  of  that  very 
desert,  was  one  that,  after  several  stages,  led 
through  difficult  passes  into  a  broad  sand 
tract,  expanded  drearily  before  them,  and 
roughened  by  the  billow-like  shapes  of  low 
sand  hills.  Behind  them,  the  heights  of  the 
Sinai  group  they  had  left  stood  up  in  serrated 
battlements;  before  them  was  this  waste  of 
desert,  belted  north  and  east  by  other  dim 
mountain  ridges ;  and  on  the  right,  down  a 
wild  torrent  bed  marked  with  the  track  of 
ancient  ruin,  now  riverless  and  dry,  a  glimpse 
of  the  sea  of  Akaba  sparkled  distantly,  with 
the  faint  outline  of  the  far  Arabian  heights 
beyond.  As  the  people  journeyed  on  thus, 
discontent  under  change  had  kept  uttering 
its  murmurs  through  their  ranks ;  the  kind  of 
settled,  half-home  life  they  had  led  for  so 
many  months  under  Sinai  was  broken,  and 
they  were  now  cast  again  on  the  wide,  home- 
less wilderness ;  wherefore  the  old  murmur- 
ous spirit  broke  out  incorrigibly.  God  had 
borne  with  them  much  before  Sinai ;  but 
after  the  lessons  and  the  life  in  His  own  pres- 


THE*  GRAVES    OF    LUST.  263 

ence  around  Sinai,  nigh  a  whole  year,  His 
patience  waned  fast  now,  and  but  for  Moses, 
He  would  have  made  sharp  and  sudden  end 
of  all  Israel  on  the  spot.  As  it  was,  a  fire 
flew  forth  from  Him  round  the  borders  of  the 
camp,  catching  the  thick  shrub  plants  that 
ran  like  network  on  the  soil,  and  from  these 
blazing  fiercely  among  the  nearest  tents,  till 
the  whole  camp-ground  was  girt  with  a  line 
of  flame.  Many  fell  victims  in  the  fiery 
onset ;  but  at  the  cry  of  Moses,  God  stayed 
the  consuming  of  His  wrath  again.  Still,  no 
sooner  had  he  done  so,  and  while  the  prints 
of  the  destroyer  were  hardly  yet  cold,  than 
the  perverse  rebelliousness  of  the  people 
woke  anew.  It  was  as  a  serpent  scotched, 
not  killed ;  each  visitation  of  the  Lord  re- 
pressing it  for  the  moment,  but  by  and  by 
moving  it  to  deeper  virulence.  So  "the 
mixed  multitude"  who  had  followed  the  march 
out  of  Egypt,  having,  in  their  low-pitched 
existence,  first  taken  up  the  tale,  it  was  soon 
spread  through  the  whole  people  like  a  wild 
contagion.    They  saw  the  bare  desert  stretched 


264  THE    GRAVES   OF   LtJST. 

before  them  waste  on  waste  ;  not  one  growth 
grateful  to  the  palate  did  it  offer ;  of  the 
simple  manna  food  of  God  thej  were  weary ; 
and  in  face  of  such  change,  and  bleak  pros- 
pect, and,  it  might  be,  utter  want,  the  old 
pungent  memories  of  the  plants  of  Egypt 
came  across  them,  and,  degraded  to  this  low 
level  of  the  mere  lust  of  food,  they  wept  in 
their  tents,  crying,  "  Who  shall  give  us  flesh 
to  eat  ?"  Had  it  been  such  an  hour  as  that 
in  which,  before  the  gift  of  manna,  they  had 
been  looking  famine  in  the  face,  both  Divine 
and  human  patience  might  have  found  excuse 
for  them ;  but  now,  in  the  midst  of  manna 
plenty,  it  was  a  sheer  and  shameless  abandon- 
ment of  themselves  to  the  grovelling  of  abject 
appetite  alone ;  and  Moses,  driven  beyond 
iDearing,  appealed  in  impetuous  prayer  to 
God,  crying  that  the  burden  of  this  whole 
people  crushed  him — that  it  was  impossible 
he  could  sustain  it  more — and  that,  if  it  was 
decreed  to  lie  on  his  heart,  he  would  sooner 
at  once  die. 

God  was  pitiful,  not  to  the  people,  but  to 


THE    GRAVES    OF    LUST.  265 

his  heart-broken  servant,  and  in  Ilis  pity,  told 
him  He  would  ease  his  burden  in  a  two-fold 
way.  First,  He  would  give  of  the  Spirit 
that  rested  on  Moses  to  seventy  elders  of  the 
people  Moses  should  himself  select,  and  they 
should  be  his  assessors  in  controlling  the 
unmanageable,  infatuated  throng.  Next,  He 
would  rain  quails  on  the  camp,  till  the  people 
should  be  fed  full,  not  only  up  to  the  measure 
of  their  lust,  but  for  days  and  days  beyond  it, 
till  the  thing  they  lusted  for  would  be  turned 
into  loathing  and  a  curse.  Accordingly, 
Moses  drew  up  his  list  of  seventy,  and  God, 
taking  of  the  Spirit  wherewith  he  himself  had 
been  gifted,  breathed  it  on  these  seventy,  and 
in  the  tabernacle  where  they  were  assembled 
they  began  to  prophesy.  We  have  seen  how 
single  and  ungrudging  Moses  was  in  his 
heart,  when,  on  a  former  occasion,  his  rule  in 
Israel  had  been  divided,  and  in  so  far  parted 
from  him.  Not  less  generously  ungrudging 
was  he  now.  The  Spirit  that  was  lit  upon 
the  hearts  and  lips  of  these  seventy  was,  in 
plain  terms,  taken  from  him — seventy  flames 

12 


266  THE   GRAVES   OF   LUST. 

kindled  at,  and  abstracted  from,  his  one  super- 
eminent,  and  hitherto  solitary,  flame;  but 
just  as  one  star,  touching  many  other  dead 
torches  in  the  heavens,  might  kindle  them 
round  into  stars  also,  and  would  be  lessened 
not  one  whit  in  its  own  light,  only  in  the 
ring  of  clustered  luminaries  becoming  less 
marked,  perhaps,  than  when  it  glowed  soli- 
tary against  the  night — so  Moses  gave  to  the 
elders  of  the  Spirit  in  him  without  an  hair- 
breadth of  real  loss — fast  as  he  gave,  the 
divine  effluence,  far  from  ebbing  in  his  own 
soul,  rebaptizing  it  and  enlarging  it  afresh — 
to  that  extent,  indeed,  of  high  abolishing  of 
self,  and  putting  it  for  ever  out  of  sight,  that, 
when  news  came  that  two  of  the  seventy, 
accidentally  left  in  the  camp,  had  yet  caught 
the  Spirit  there,  and  were  prophesying,  Moses 
rebuked  the  simple  jealousy  that  broke  from 
the  lips  of  Joshua,  and  in  words  notable  for 
all  who  take  part,  high  or  low,  in  God's  work, 
said,  "  Enviest  thou  for  my  sake  ?  Would  God 
that  all  the  Lord's  people  were  prophets,  and 
that  the  Lord  would  put  His  Spirit  upon  them!" 


THE    GRAVES    OF    LUST.  267 

Then  followed  the  second  wonder  of  God's 
promise.  There  had  been  some  shade  of  in- 
credulity in  the  mind  of  Moses,  when,  looking 
on  the  thousands  of  Israel  blackening  the  face 
of  the  desert,  he  had  asked  God  how  it  was 
possible  flesh  should  be  for  so  many  mouths  ? 
Would  the  flocks  and  herds  be  slain  for  them, 
or  the  sea  glimmering  there  in  the  distance 
give  up  its  stores  ?  But  the  Lord  had  thrust 
these  questions  off"  with  the  greater  question 
—Was  His  hand  waxed  short  ?  And  accord- 
ingly, when  the  hour  came.  He  sent  forth  a 
wind  upon  the  deep,  and  flights  of  quails 
were  driven  inland  before  it,  right  over,  and 
for  a  vast  space  on  all  sides  about,  the  camp, 
in  such  living  multitude  that  literally  not  only 
the  air,  but  the  ground  where  they  fell, 
swarmed  to  darkness  with  them  ;  and  for  a 
night  and  two  days,  the  people  toiled  at  noth- 
ing but  this  great  harvest  of  their  lust.  But 
even  while  their  homers  were  being  laden, 
and  in  their  greedy,  thankless  haste,  the  flesh 
of  the  quails  was  being  thrust  between  their 
teeth,  God's  anger  could  not  be  restrained, 


268  THE   GRAVES  OF   LUST. 

and  He  smote  them  with  a  plague  bom  of  the 
very  banquet  they  were  gloating  over,  so  that 
even  while  they  ate  many  of  them  died.  It 
was  a  signal  lesson — their  prayer  granted, 
but  with  a  curse  about  its  neck — the  fle^h 
they  wept  for  given  to  repletion,  but  in  it  the 
seed  of  reaction,  of  loathsomeness,  of  death — 
and,  to  signalise  the  lesson  more  to  all  time, 
the  scene  where  the  plague-stricken  died  and 
were  buried  was  called  Kibroth-hattaavah — 
*'  the  graves  of  lust." 

In  one  of  those  deeply -resonant  psalms  in 
which,  in  times  long  after,  the  Hebrews  loved 
to  recount  in  their  temple  their  forefathers' 
wilderness  story,  this  lesson  is  more  than 
alluded  to  when  it  is  said,  "He  gave  them 
their  request,  but  sent  leanness  into  their 
soul."  It  was,  in  short,  another  turn  in  the 
wheel  of  God's  varied  dealing.  Had  He 
refused  the  flesh  that  was  wept  for,  possibly 
at  the  cost  of  present  pain  and  privation.  He 
might  have  won  the  thanks  of  Israel  after ;  by 
holding  back  the  wave  of  miserable  desire  in 
them.  He  might,  one  would  say,   have  pre- 


THE    GRAVES   OF    LUST.  269 

served  some  spiritual  ground  within  their 
hearts  clear  for  His  divine  purposes  and  influ- 
ences ;  but  by  this  time  there  was  need  to 
teach  them  another  dreadful  chapter  of  His 
ways  instead,  and  He  therefore  gave  them 
their  request ;  He  let  in  the  full  flood  of 
earthly  desire,  but,  in  that  letting  in,  the  last 
grain  of  spiritual  footing  in  the  nature  so  let 
loose,  and  yielded  to,  and  satiated,  was  over- 
swept  and  lost.  To  the  body,  such  a  feast  as 
even  the  greedy  eye  wearied  over;  but  to 
the  soul  within,  leanness.  What  other  conse- 
quence, my  reader,  could  ensue  ?  We  know 
that  in  every  creature  God  has  made  in  this 
world  there  is  but  a  certain  measure  of  vital 
being  assigned — a  certain  life- current  brim- 
ming to  its  edge,  and  for  all  the  creature's 
ordinary  purposes  enough,  but  nought  be- 
yond ;  and  if  that  current  be  distributed  in 
just  proportion  through  the  frame,  every 
organ  will  be  in  equal  play ;  but  if  divided 
wrongfully  and  shortsightedly,  too  much  of 
the  current  turned  into  one  direction,  neces- 
sarily either   too  little  flows  in  some  other 


270  THE   GRAVES   OF   LUST. 

direction,  or  the  stream  altogether  attenuates 
and  dies.  Mark  the  class  of  sea  animals  that 
are  endowed  naturally  with  the  organs  of 
vision,  but,  by  their  living  wholly  in  the  dark 
of  far- withdrawn  caves,  are  said,  in  that  per- 
verse life,  gradually  to  lose  their  first  power, 
and  the  very  eyes  to  shrivel  in  their  sockets. 
Mark,  in  the  human  body,  the  effect  of  any 
laborious  work  straining  one  limb  or  organ 
heavily  and  for  a  length  of  time — the  other 
limbs  grow  feeble,  and  their  muscles  shrink. 
Mark  also,  when  you  rise  to  a  higher  scale — 
the  ardor  of  the  student  drives  the  mind  into 
a  passionate  whirl,  but  it  drains  the  body  of 
its  health,  and  ultimately,  it  may  be,  its  life. 
And  mark,  rising  higher  yet,  the  man  who 
lives  absorbingly  in  public  life,  be  it  even  of 
the  most  patriotic  sort — yet  how  often  has  it 
with  truth  been  said  that  the  intensity  of  flow 
the  one  way  dries  up  the  quieter  graces  of  the 
heart  in  other  ways — the  man  so  eminent  in 
public  is  a  rare  guest  at  his  own  hearth,  and 
when  there  is  miserable  and  blank.  So,  truest 
of  all  is  this  striking  principle,  as  to  the  bal- 


THE   GRAVES   OF   LUST.  271 

ance  in  us  of  the  earthly  and  the  spiritual. 
God  does  not  mean  the  earthly  in  our  nature 
to  be  wholly  uprooted  and  destroyed.  He 
gave  warrant  so  far  to  the  first  cry  of  Israel 
for  food,  by  answering  them  with  the  daily 
shower  of  manna ;  and  as  for  us,  there  is  that 
one  middle  petition  in  our  Lord's  prayer 
which  absolutely  teaches  us  to  pray,  "  Give 
us  this  day  our  daily  bread!"  But  with  all 
that  clearly  understood,  there  is  just  the  one 
full  life-current  to  be  distributed  between  soul 
and  body  ;  and  if  we  give  the  latter  more 
than  the  above  pilgrim  petition  marks  out,  if, 
like  the  Israelites,  we  go  beyond  the  daily 
shower  of  ^manna  and  pine  for  an  overflow  of 
flesh  besides,  straightway  that  is  diverting  to 
the  body  more  than  its  regulated  share — it  is 
gorging  all  its  sluices  and  its  cun'ents  with 
the  life-force  God  has  measured  out  to  us,  and 
of  necessity  the  stream  so  abstracted  runs,  in 
the  direction  of  the  soul,  dwindled,  and,  per- 
haps, altogether  dry. 

What,  for  example,  is  the  proverbial  effect 
of  a  worldly  life  ?     I  do  not  mean  a  life  as  be- 


272  THE    GRAVES    OF    LUST. 

ing  worldly  simply  because  it  is  led  mucli  in 
the  stir  and  traffic  of  the  world,  for  the  world 
is  the  place  where  God,  for  the  perfecting  of 
their  faith,  sets  all  Christians ;  and  many  ob- 
tain a  large  share  of  the  world  through  inher- 
itance, or  through  their  own  honorable  labors, 
or  in  other  just  ways,  who  yet  hold  the  bal- 
ance most  signally  between  the  seen  and  the 
unseen — between  the  body  and  the  soul ;  who 
walk  with  noble,  exemplary  steps  on  the  diffi- 
cult edge,  diligent  in  their  calling  on  the 
earthly  side,  and  yet  on  the  heavenly  side  fer- 
vent in  spirit,  serving  God.  Of  these  we  say 
that  their  secret  is,  they  keep  their  heart-de- 
sires right.  God  sends  them  great  worldly 
gains,  not  because  they  have  lusted  for  them, 
or,  once  grasping  them,  would  in  the  miser- 
spirit  hoard  them,  but  because  they  are  good 
depositaries  of  wealth  ;  the  gifts  of  God  flow 
through  their  hands  plentifully  for  the  bless- 
ing and  the  help  of  others ;  and,  therefore, 
still  more  liberally,  they  have  their  basket  and 
their  store  increased,  but  never  to  their  soul's 
decrease  ;  on  the  contrary,  (to  transpose  the 


THE    GRAVES   OF   LUST.  273 

terms  of  St.  John's  saying,)  their  souls  pros- 
per and  are  in  health,  even  as  their  estate  in 
the  world  prospers. 

Such,  therefore,  I  do  not  mean  when  I 
speak  of  worldly  life  ;  but  I  mean  life  which, 
spent  much  in  the  world,  gets  entangled  with 
a  love  of,  and  a  thirst  for,  it;  and  whose 
whole  horizon-view  is  bounded  by  the  desires 
and  existence  this  world  stimulates.  What  is 
proverbial  of  such  a  life  ?  Is  it  not  that,  in 
proportion  as  the  earthly  rises  in  it,  the 
spiritual  sinks  ?  A  man  gets  into  the  eager 
chase  of  money,  for  example,  for  money's 
sake  ;  as  he  grows  to  the  riches  of  a  Dives 
outside,  does  he  not  grow  poor  as  a  beggar  in 
the  heart  within  ?  Or  a  man  lets  in  on  him  a 
taste  for  the  ambitions,  or  the  vanities,  or  the 
enjoyments,  the  world  offers  ;  the  more  hours 
and  thoughts  he  consumes  outside  in  these, 
does  not  the  whisper  come  fainter  and  rarer 
of  the  neglected  soul  within  ?  Or  a  man  is 
by  degrees  wrought  into  a  thick-set  growth 
of  the  anxieties  and  cares  of  business ;  under 
that  choking  growth  outside  does  the  small 


274  THE    GRAVES    OF    LUST. 

spiritual  seed  not  perish  at  its  heart-root 
within  ?  We  all  know,  in  short,  that  whatever 
draws  the  soul  more  to  earth  draws  it,  in  that 
degree,  more  from  Heaven  ;  that  whatever  is 
a  gain  of  mere  lust — mere  unhallowed,  self- 
ish, overstretched  desire — is  a  leanness  to 
that  extent  sent  into  the  soul ;  that  if  the 
current  flows  deep  and  strong,  and  ever 
deeper  and  stronger  the  one  way,  it  necessa- 
rily exhausts  the  whole  life-force ;  the  body 
drains  the  soul ;  the  material,  by  its  suction, 
enfeebles  to  its  last  drop  the  spiritual  the 
other  v/ay ;  till,  when  the  case,  as  it  often 
does,  runs  into  excess,  (for  lust  that  has 
attained  its  end  does  not  rest  sated  there,  but 
its  curse  is  to  beget  lust  an  hundredfold,) 
then  in  that  excess  we  have  the  spectacle — 
the  sorrowful  spectacle — of  a  man's  life  run- 
ning on  the  world's  side  with  the  strength 
and  fulness  of  a  river,  all  the  energies  and 
interest  having  full  play  there;  and,  on  the 
side  of  God,  diminished  to  a  thread-like  rill, 
or,  in  darkness  and  stagnancy,  dropped  and 
lost.    Indeed  we  have  the  same  picture  under 


THE    GRAVES    OP    LUST.  275 

other  words  presented  by  our  Lord,  when  He 
conjures  up  the  last  stage  of  that  frightful 
contrast — the  pampered  body,  the  wasted 
soul — the  earthly  filling  all  the  foreground, 
the  spiritual  behind  it  shrunken  to  a  ghost — 
and  asks,  ''  What  doth  it  profit  a  man,  though 
he  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own 
soul ?" 

Let  us  be  afraid,  then,  and  deeply  watch- 
ful, not  only  what  we  ask,  but  what  we  inar- 
ticulately wish  from  heaven.  Yea,  let  us  be 
afraid  what  earthly  thing  we  ^x  on,  that  we 
may  desire  it  even  in  the  secret  of  our  souls. 
All  our  real  cravings  go  out  from  us  con- 
stantly, and,  as  on  a  clear  page,  are  read  by 
God.  Wherefore,  should  He  give  us  our 
desire — should  He  put  the  very  morsel  we  are 
hungering  for — money,  place  in  the  world, 
vengeance  on  an  adversary,  pleasure,  sin, 
earthly  success,  or  whatever  it  may  be — 
should  He  give  us  that  very  morsel  between 
our  teeth,  we  may  be  sure  it  is  an  omen  that 
should  make  us  anything  but  rejoice  ;  that 
leanness  is  sent  into  the  soul  withal;  and  that, 


276  THE    GRAVES    OF    LUST. 

in  the  very  moment  of  our  lust  snatching  its 
banquet^  like  the  flesh  the  Israelites  devoured, 
it  will  be  turned  into  our  plague.  Even 
those  who  have  stood  in  a  very  holy  place 
beside  God's  altar  have  had  reason  oftentimes 
to  sorrow  that  they  allowed  other  seeking 
than  the  seeking  of  God's  glory  to  move 
them  thither — ^prizes  of  earthly  honor,  of  ad- 
vantage, nay,  even  of  sordid  gain;  and  that 
God,  giving  them  their  desires  to  the  full,  has 
sent  also  the  inevitable  counterbalancing 
curse,  blighting  to  all  their  graces,  emaciation 
and  deathlike  palsy  into  the  soul.  I  repeat, 
therefore,  let  us  think  what  it  is  we  ask — 
what  it  is  in  our  inner  heart  we  wish.  Dare 
we  see  it  realized  and  brought  home  to  us — 
the  gift,  but  the  millstone  God  puts  as  the 
condition  round  its  neck — the  brightness,  but 
the  spectral  shadow  in  its  steps  ?  Dare  we 
accept  a  too  full-fed  worldly  estate  as  the 
happiest,  or,  knowing  God's  awful  manner, 
would  we  not  recoil  from  it  as  the  reverse  ? 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  desires  of  our 
folly    have    not    been    granted    us,    neither 


THE    GRAVES   OF    LUST.  277 

strength,  nor  health,  nor  gain,  nor  high  place, 
nor  anything  beyond  pilgrim  simplicity  and 
pilgrim  spareness,  let  us,  as  we  journey  on, 
learn  to  give  God  praise  that  He  has  not 
visited  us  with  that  last  token  of  His  anger — 
cast  us  off,  that  we  may  have  our  desires  as 
the  Israelites  had  their  quails ;  that,  hinder- 
ing us  in  our  earthward  frowardness.  He  is,  in 
that,  drawing  out  and  turning  on  the  current 
of  our  life  heavenward ;  that,  making  the 
one  stream  run  scanty.  He  is  causing  the 
other  stream  to  flash  and  deepen  in  its  bed ; 
that,  denying  the  body  even  till  it  is  like 
Lazarus  at  the  rich  man's  gate,  He  pours  a 
double  and  a  treble  blessing  in  through  all 
the  flood-gates  of  the  soul.  Let  us  not 
tempt  Him  as  the  Israelites  tempted ;  when 
we  pray  or  wish,  let  our  fervor  flow  out 
unrepressed  for  things  spiritual ;  when  we 
turn  towards  the  things  temporal,  let  us 
tread  in  hesitancy  and  fear,  saying,  in  the 
words  of  Agur,  "  Give  me  neither  poverty 
nor  riches;  feed  me  with  food  convenient 
24 


278  THE    GRAVES    OF    LUST. 

for  me  ;"  and  translating  into  ourselves 
that  still  more  God-observant  saying  of 
St.  Paul,  ''  I  have  learned,  in  whatsoever 
state  I  am,  therewith  to  be  content." 


XXI. 

It  was  destined  that  Moses  should  not  find 
many  days'  repose  in  the  thorny  leadership 
of  Israel.  Scarce  had  the  plague,  springing 
from  the  people's  lust,  abated,  and  the  camp 
been  pitched  another  stage  forward  in  the 
broad  desert  of  Hazeroth,  than  his  new  grief 
arose  ;  and  this  time  it  was  the  bitterer  that 
his  new  adversaries  were  those  of  his  own 
household.  His  sister  Miriam,  whom  God 
had  distinguished  in  Israel  by  her  gifts  as  a 
prophetess,  began  to  give  utterance  to  an 
envy  of  him  which  had  very  likely  long  been 
lurking  in  her  heart.  Now  she  whispered  it 
in  the  ear  of  Aaron,  whose  easy  temper  fell 
the  victim  of  her  stronger  passions.  It  was 
under  cover  of  jealousy  for  their  pure  Israel- 
ite blood  she  made  the  charge  against  Moses, 
it  is  true,  for  she  affected  to  make  it  out  sin 

279 


280  MIRIAM'S    HUMILIATION. 

that  lie  had  married  a  Cushite  woman ;  but, 
with  this  plea  on  her  tongue,  it  was  the  ser- 
pent envy  that  was  really  at  bottom  in  her 
heart.  Yet  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  such 
utterness  of  folly,  not  to  say  wickedness.  She 
existed  under  the  mere  shadow  of  Moses ;  she 
and  Aaron  were  great  in  Israel  because  Moses 
first  was  great ;  and  to  look  at  him  as  he  pre- 
sided in  the  camp,  and  to  mark  how, 

"  Deep  on  bis  brow  engraven, 
Deliberation  sat,  and  public  care!" 

to  think  what  a  weight  of  all  the  people's 
government,  and  sins,  and  sufferings  he  bore ; 
how  he  had  triumphed  through  so  many  dread 
wilderness  events ;  and  how  he  had  been  the 
daily  associate  of  the  mighty  God ;  and  yet 
to  dream  that  she,  a  woman,  could  displace 
him,  or  so  much  as  touch  a  corner  of  his  bur- 
den with  her  little  finger,  was  surely  a  dream 
of  the  wildest  presumption.  But  be  all  these 
things  as  they  might,  Miriam  it  would  seem 
proposed  no  less  for  herself  than  an  equality 
of  rule  at  least — for  Aaron  she  brought  in  as 


MIRIAMS   HUMILIATION.  281 

a  mere  makeweight  in  the  case — and,  accord- 
ingly, her  appeal  at  once  and  claim  were  that 
God  had  spoken  by  her  as  well  as  by  Moses. 
Moses  was  silent — perhaps  in  great  wonder- 
ment, perhaps  in  grief.  But  God  at  that  mo- 
ment interposed  to  rebuke  the  treacherous 
and  thankless  two.  He  summoned  them 
along  with  Moses  to  the  tabernacle  door; 
there  He  brooded  over  them  in  a  cloud ;  and, 
most  probably  before  all  Israel,  He  s]3oke  to 
them  from  the  angry  darkness.  He  told  them 
they,  and  such -like  prophets  as  they,  were 
at  best  but  dreamers  of  dreams,  and  seers  of 
visions ;  that  God  revealed  Himself  to  them 
thus  dimly  and  distantly,  but  with  His  servant 
Moses  He  would  talk  mouth  to  mouth ;  He 
would  uncover  to  him  His  rarest  glory  ;  He 
would  shew  him  the  very  similitude  of  God. 
Wherefore,  then,  were  they  not  afraid  to 
speak  against  him?  With  these  words,  the 
cloud  rolled  off,  and  Miriam  was  beheld  where 
she  stood  a  miserable  leper,  white  as  snow. 
Aaron  repented  deeply,  and  cried  to  his 
brother  to  have  pity  ;  whereupon  in  the  first 


282  MIRIAM'S   HUMILIATION. 

words  he  had  yet  permitted  to  break  from 
him,  Moses  in  his  turn  cried  to  God.  Fitting 
it  was  that  in  so  wretched  an  exposure  of  the 
family  heart  such  should  have  been  the  first 
words  heard  from  the  great  servant  of  the 
Lord.  But  the  answer  was  not  one  of  imme- 
diate mercy.  The  crime  of  Miriam  had  been 
too  excuseless  and  outrageous  ;  and  she  must, 
therefore,  like  others,  fall  under  the  ban  of 
the  leprosy  law.  So  she  was  led  out  of  the 
camp,  and  left  for  seven  days  ;  and  in  that 
avoided,  loathsome,  branded  state,  we  can 
think  of  the  proud  prophetess,  who  had  led 
the  timbrels  of  the  Israelite  women  by  the 
Red  Sea,  and  had  been  ever  since  as  a  queen 
in  honor — we  can  think  of  her  as  sitting  out- 
cast on  the  ground,  her  robe  drawn  over  head 
and  face,  and  drinking  the  cup  of  humiliation 
to  the  dregs. 

What  we  are  struck  with  first  is,  the  won- 
der that,  in  a  family  circle  so  lifted  on  the 
platform  of  Divine  grace  and  honor,  there 
should  have  been  all  at  once  brought  to  light 
a  flaw  so  bitter  and  so  deadly.     Had  Moses 


MIRIAM'S   HUMILIATION.  283 

stirred  the  envy  of  any  of  the  other  outside 
chiefs  of  Israel — had  there  been  an  eye  of 
smoldering  fire  and  a  lip  of  base  depreci- 
ation set  on  him  from  any  other  quarter  of 
the  camp — we  could,  according  to  what  we 
know  of  human  nature,  make  some  allowance, 
and  account  the  case  at  least  credible.  But 
that  from  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  Aaron  and 
Miriam,  who  had  gained  all  in  his  rise,  and  to 
whom  his  honor  should  have  been  as  their 
own,  and  dearer — that  from  the  woman's 
heart  and  hand  of  the  latter  especially  the 
poisoned  shaft  should  have  been  shot  against 
him — was  surely  too  monstrous  to  be  believed. 
How  could  the  host  they  were  at  the  head  of 
look  at  it  ?  how  could  God,  Whose  name  and 
cause  they  had  in  charge,  regard  it  ?  Yet, 
sooth  to  tell,  the  Miriam  spirit  is  no  such 
strange  thing  in  the  world,  we  fear,  as  all  this 
would  make  appear.  Punished  by  the  leprous 
stroke  in  the  wilds  of  Hazeroth,  it  has  revived 
into  deadliness  in  a  thousand  scenes  since. 
We  know,  for  example,  how  even  the  family 
group  of  our  Lord's  disciples,  knit,  one  would 


284  MIRIAM'S    HUMILIATION. 

think,  in  so  sacred  a  bond,  was  torn  with 
jealousies  and  dissension.  We  know  how, 
later,  Paul  was  undervalued  by  the  very  men 
he  had  made  converts  to  the  gospel,  and  who 
were  members  with  him  of  the  same  house- 
hold of  faith ;  how  they  seized  the  day  of  his 
distress  to  level  bitter  sneers  against  him,  and 
to  snatch  the  standard  he  had  upborne  so 
grandly  into  their  own  rash,  ineffective  hands. 
We  know  how  he  felt  the  stab  ;  yet  how 
splendid  the  magnanimity  with  which  he 
struck  aside  the  viperous  spirit  and  its  stab 
together,  sayiug,  "  Notwithstanding,  every 
way  Christ  is  preached  ;  and  I  therein  do 
rejoice,  yea,  and  will  rejoice."  And  we  know, 
further,  how,  in  all  strenuous  projects  and 
crises  of  the  Church,  envy  has  slid  in  even 
among  men  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle; 
there  has  been  fierce  contention  for  the  place 
of  honor,  and  such  rupture  and  ruin  to  the 
cause  of  God  in  consequence,  that  the  enemy 
has  rushed  in  and  the  ark  of  God  been  taken. 
And  we  know,  still  further,  how,  in  the 
Church  of  Christ,  now,   and  amongst  those 


MIRIAM'S   HUMILIATION.  285 

wlio  are  its  gaged  and  sworn  leaders,  the  un- 
happy spirit  is  not  dead,  but  lives;  talents 
that  are  serving  in  the  same  holy  work  with 
us  are  underrated,  high  success  done  in  name 
of  the  same  Christ  we  follow  is  taken  down, 
high  gifts  are  lessened,  high  attainments  are 
explained  away,  and,  while  we  plead  lofty 
pleas  of  disinterestedness,  and  such-like,  as 
Miriam  pled  on  the  score  of  her  and  Aaron's 
family  honor — underneath,  in  the  insinuations 
of  our  lips  and  the  real  thought  of  our  hearts, 
there  is  too,  too  often  the  same  trailing  ser- 
pent that  in  her  would  have  stung  even  her 
noble  brother  to  death.  We  have  asked  what 
thought  the  host  of  Israel  at  the  spectacle  ? 
what  thought  that  great  God  of  Israel  under 
the  shadow  of  whose  name  it  was  Miriam 
gave  her  bad  passions  play?  An  hundred 
times  more  may  we  ask,  what  men  think  of 
^^s,  who,  under  the  Christian  mask,  not  gener- 
ously rejoice  in  all  good  for  Christ's  sake,  but 
meanly  lower  here,  coldly  freeze  into  discour- 
agement there?  What  impression  can  we 
suppose    the   world    takes    on    if   passions, 


286  MIRIAM'S   HUMILIATION. 

prompting  thus,  smolder  and  occasionally 
break  fiercely  out  in  the  household  of  God  ? 
and  above  all,  what  can  the  all-searching  Lord 
think,  in  Whose  field  we  labor,  on  Whose 
holy  ground  we  seize  occasion  for  the  treach- 
erous aggrandizing  and  strife  of  self — Whose 
are  all  gifts,  and  all  worthy  deeds,  and  all 
illustrious  work,  and  yet  Whose  glory  in 
them  all  we  would  rather  see  blotted  out  than 
that,  with  their  high  contrast  above  ourselves, 
they  should  cross  our  gaze  ?  Is  it  not  grief 
and  anger  to  the  Spirit  of  our  God  that  we 
thus,  like  Miriam,  would  pluck  His  own 
crown  off  His  servant's  brow  ?  Do  we  not 
deserve  to  be  humbled  as  were  she  and 
Aaron  down  to  the  stature  of  our  own  real 
littleness?  And  has  there  not  been  ground 
given  Avhy  a  magnanimous  heart,  such  as  that 
of  Moses,  should  be  pointed  to  as  almost  the 
wonder  of  a  generation — so  sorrowfully  rare 
is  it,  alas ! — one  so  arrayed  in  gifts,  and  yet 
who  could  break  into  that  simple  outburst  we 
have  already  quoted — "Enviest  thou  for  my 
sake  ?     Would  God  that  all  the  Lord's  people 


Miriam's  humiliation.  287 

were  prophets,  and  that  the  Lord  would  put 
His  Spirit  upon  them  !" 

So,  further,  as  we  read  the  tale  of  this 
family  breach,  the  rebuke  of  God,  and  the 
leprous  blight  thrown  on  Miriam,  teach  us 
not  only  of  the  hatefulness  of  envy,  but  of 
the  exceeding  goodness  and  beauty  of  each 
one  in  God's  household  being  quietly  con- 
tented in  His  own  gift.  Miriam  forgot  her- 
self through  her  having  been  upraised  in  her 
brother's  fortunes,  and  so  sharing  some  meas- 
ure of  his  prophet  pov/er  from  heaven ;  she 
was  tempted  thus  to  extend  her  grasp,  as 
though  to  clutch  from  him  the  heavy  sceptre 
of  Israel.  How  much  better  had  she  been 
meekly  thankful  for  that  measure  of  distinc- 
tion God,  for  Moses'  sake,  had  seen  fit  to 
bestow  on  her !  What  a  place  of  unbroken 
honor  and  memory  she  would  have  retained 
in  Israel  had  she  held  back  her  weak  woman's 
hand  to  its  natural  task — to  ring  its  soft 
cadence  on  the  timbrel,  or  to  ply  the  homely, 
but  for  her  more  fitting,  sceptre  of  the  distafil 
She  would  have  saved  that  episode  of  shame  ; 


288  MIRIAM'S    HUMILIATION. 

she  would  have  sat  chief  of  Israelite  women, 
instead  of  falling,  as  she  did,  to  be  the 
leprous  gazing-stock  of  all  the  camp.  So  it 
is  wisest  flir  to  fall  in  with  God's  gift  and 
place  for  us.  Letting  alone  that  hardly  any 
misery  is  greater  than  an  ambition  fostered  in 
a  man  that  aims  higher  than  his  powers  will 
carry  him,  what  would  be  the  result  suppose 
the  success  and  influence  we  grudge  envi- 
ously in  some  one  else  were  laid  for  us  to 
wield  at  our  feet  ?  The  wayside  flower  is 
sweet  in  its  lowly  spot,  but  it  could  not  for  a 
moment  hold  the  place  of  the  giant  tree  that 
is  rocking  its  branches  in  the  storm.  The 
inland  stream  is  sweet  in  its  modest  windings, 
making  green  its  meadows ;  but  it  could  not 
for  a  moment  fill  the  deep  gulf-channel  on 
whose  waves  fleets  are  borne.  In  the  shep- 
herd-boy's hand  the  sling  and  the  five  smooth 
pebbles  from  the  brook  are  an  effective 
weapon ;  but  if  he  sheathed  himself  in  Saul's 
armor,  Saul's  fortune  in  the  fight  would  never 
follow  him  ;  beyond  doubt  he  would  perish. 
So,  pilgrim  of  the  Cross,  seek  the  true  honor 


MIRIAM'S   HUMILIATION.  289 

God  assigns  you  in  the  circle  of  your  place 
and  gifts.  Mark  not  how  lowly  these  are — 
they  are  true  and  honorable  as  given  of  God ; 
and,  in  putting  them  to  single,  quiet,  earnest 
use  in  His  service,  they  are  increased  in 
honor,  as  Miriam  was  increased  in  honor  ere 
^he  spirit  of  the  tempter  breathed  in  her  and 
she  fell :  whereas,  to  look  beyond,  except 
with  loving  and  unjealous  eyes,  into  the 
brighter  circle  of  another's  gifts — to  seek  to 
grasp  that  we  cannot  wield — or,  failing  that, 
to  lessen  its  repute — to  put  the  stigma  on  it 
of  its  being  base  coin  and  worthy  only  to  be 
struck  out  of  the  currency  of  God's  king- 
dom— this  is  not  only  to  destroy  the  heart 
out  of  our  own  gifts,  to  enfeeble  what  power 
there  is  in  us  to  do  God  service  and  to  hasten 
on  His  work ;  but  it  is,  like  Miriam,  to  over- 
reach ourselves  into  an  exposure  of  our  impo- 
tence and  folly ;  it  is  to  forfeit  all  the  excel- 
lence and  the  beauty  of  our  standing,  as  she 
in  Israel  made  sacrifice  of  hers,  and  in  God's 
sight  it  is  to  share  in  her   humiliation   and 

shame.       If    there   is   a   sight   of    nobleness 

13 


290  MIRIAM'S   HUMILIATION. 

greater  than  another,  it  is  to  witness  all  in 
the  Church  of  Christ  emulous,  each  in  the 
consideration  of  his  oicn  talent,  and,  however 
small  or  however  great,  the  awful  writing  on 
it,  "Occupy  till  I  come;"  to  witness  all, when 
they  look  on  one  another's  talent,  still  fasten- 
ing the  eyes  only  on  the  writing,  "  Occupy 
till  I  come  ;"  till  they  mourn  all  as  one  heart  in 
any  failure  ;  till  they  rejoice  all  as  one  heart  in 
any  triumph ;  till  the  spirit  runs  through  all 
of  Him  they  follow,  greater  yet  -than  Moses — 
Him  Who  in  magnanimity  has  been  the  grand- 
est the  world  has  ever  seen — "  Who  made 
Himself  of  no  reputation — Who  took  upon 
Him  the  form  of  a  servant — Who,  though 
He  was  rich,  yet  for  our  sakes  became  poor, 
that  we  through  His  poverty  might  be  made 
rich!'' 

So  passes  Miriam  across  the  scene  under 
the  shadow  of  her  humiliation,  and  we  get  no 
other  glimpse  of  her,  save  a  momentary  light 
in  Kadesh,  where  she  died,  and  her  unruly 
heart  at  last  found  quietness  in  the  grave. 


XXII. 

The  line  by  which  the  Israelite  march 
crossed  the  wild  table-land  of  the  desert  after 
leaving  Hazeroth  led  to  the  next  long  halting- 
spot  at  Kadesh.  Whatever  be  the  exact 
point  we  assign  as  Kadesh,  it  undoubtedly 
lay  in  the  group  of  hills  clustering  themselves 
round  the  spurs  of  Mount  Hor,  and  to  the 
north  of  the  Gulf  of  Akaba ;  and  if  the  con- 
clusion of  recent  travellers  on  the  scene  be 
correct,  it  was  probably  the  same  as  that  fa- 
mous city  lying  in  its  rocky  cleft,  known  well 
to  an  antiquity  later  than  that  of  Moses,  and 
known  to  us  now  under  the  name  of  Petra,  as 
a  City  of  the  Dead.  The  site  of  the  city  is  a 
long  seam  which  has  been  torn,  several  miles 
in  length,  and  right  through  the  mountain's 
heart;  the  cliffs,  especially  in  the  eastern 
avenue,  frown  against  each  other  but  a  few 


292  SEEN   BUT   LOST. 

paces  apart ;  when  struck  by  sunshine,  they 
glow  with  deep  colors  of  crimson  and  purple ; 
they  are  festooned  here  and  there  with  the 
•  growth  of  wild  plants  and  creepers  high  up 
till  the  feathery  tufts  quiver  against  the  line 
of  blue  sky  ;  and  at  the  bottom  is  the  path  of 
pilgrims,  as  it  had  been  scooped  by  some  old 
torrent,  not  of  water  but  of  fire.  Where  the 
crags  at  last  recede,  opening  from  this  wild 
and  narrow  way  into  a  rocky  valley,  still  built 
round,  however,  by  its  sheer  rock  walls  many 
hundred  feet  in  height,  there  have  been  hewn 
literally  into  the  cliff  faces  (and  no  doubt 
there  were  even  before  the  Israelites'  time) 
the  cave-like  temples  and  dwellings  of  a  great 
population,  till,  in  its  human  hive,  the  whole 
stone-girdle  round  and  round  was  scored  and 
honeycombed  and  made  alive.  At  this  day 
the  vast  cleft  is  the  very  desolation  of  silence 
and  ruin ;  but  when  the  Hebrew  pilgrimage 
thronged  into  its  gap,  and  pitched  among  its 
glowing  rocks,  and  found  lodging  in  its  cav- 
erns, and  climbed  everywhere  to  overlook  it 
by  its  rock-hewn  stairs,  the  picture  must  have 


SEEN    BUT    LOST.  293 

been  one  on  which,  at  least,  human  decay  had 
not  yet  left  its  trace. 

If,  then,  the  fastness  of  Petra  really  was  the 
Kadesh  of  the  long  Israelite  rest,  it  was  from 
this  point  spies  were  sent  out,  both  by  God's 
command   and  the  people's   own  choice,    to 
search  the  land.    The  land,  that  is,  the  Canaan 
land  of  long  hope  and  promise,  lay  very  near ; 
there  were  but  these  north-western  ridges  to 
cross  and  it  was  in  sight :  nay,  if  any  one  had 
scaled  the  shoulders  of  Hor,  the  misty  ridges 
veiling  the  Dead  Sea  would  have  been   de- 
scried.    The  goal  so   near,    therefore,    must 
have  moved  the  liveliest  interest ;  the  dreary 
desert-life  was  done,  and  the  long  migration 
of  the  tribes  of  God  at  the  very  gates  of  its 
rest.     So  the  commissioned  spies,  ten  in  num- 
ber, being  one  from  each  tribe    except  the 
Levites,  very  likely  departed  from  the  camp 
with  eager  convoy.     Speedily  they  were  lost 
to  sight  on  the  neutral  grounds  between  the 
hills  and  the  Canaan  border.     As  they  went 
on,   the  features  of  the    wilderness,    so  long 
familiar,  faded  ;  the  palm  and  the  acacia  they 


294  SEEN    BUT   LOST. 

had  been  wont  to  greet  in  the  desert-way 
were  gone  ;  and  now  the  sprinkling  of  a  green 
herbage,  and  the  color  of  a  land  of  plenty  be- 
gan everywhere  to  appear.  The  slopes  they 
had  seen  looming  from  afar  drew  nearer, 
thicker  and  ever  thicker  in  their  outshaken 
wealth ;  on  their  crests  rose  here  and  there 
lines  of  battlement  and  high  cities  glancing  in 
the  sun ;  the  glades  between  were  deep  and 
umbrageous ;  and  as  the  ten  spies  plunged 
into  their  winding  paths,  tracked  their  half- 
hidden  brooks,  and  ate  of  the  fruit  every 
bough  was  laden  with,  it  must  have  been, 
after  their  long  desert-toil,  like  the  plunging 
of  head  and  eyes  and  whole  soul  into  a  deep 
sea  of  coolness  and  deliciousness  and  rest. 
There,  at  length,  was  the  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey. 

The  search  of  the  spies  through  the  land, 
for  they  seem  to  have  pierced  some  way  into 
its  interior,  lasted  forty  days.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  they  returned.  On  their  way,  in 
one  of  the  glens  where  fruit  and  flowers  grew 
tangled  in  the  very  lap  of  plenty,  they  stopped 


SEEN    BUT   LOST.  295 

to  gather  some  pomegranates  and  figs,  and  to 
cut  down  a  bunch  of  grapes.  It  was  by  the 
banks  of  a  brook  called  the  brook  of  Eshcol ; 
and  by  this  simple  deed  making  the  spot,  as 
by  a  solitary  footprint,  sacred  and  famous  to 
all  time,  the  band  then  issued  from  the  shade 
of  Canaan,  and  pursued  their  track  back  to 
the  camp  in  Kadesh.  We  can  easily  under- 
stand the  welcome,  half  curiosity,  half  fear, 
that  awaited  them,  and  with  what  an  escort 
they  passed  up  the  valley  to  the  presence  of 
Moses.  First  they  shewed  the  ripe  luscious 
grapes  that,  to  keep  them  unspoiled,  they  had 
carried  between  two  slung  upon  a  bough,  and 
they,  without  concealment,  described  the 
abundance  and  the  beauty  of  the  land  ;  but, 
in  the  same  breath,  eight  out  of  the  ten  told 
the  terror  they  had  felt  at  the  cities  on  the 
hill-ridges,  great  and  high  and  walled  up  to 
heaven,  how  the  country  swarmed  in  all  direc- 
tions with  the  fiercest  races,  and  how  espe- 
cially the  sons  of  Anak,  giants  in  stature,  and 
the  offspring  of  giants,  had  been  seen  by 
them,  making  them  feel  as  grasshoppers  at  the 


296  SEEN    BUT   LOST. 

sight,  and  that  the  ^yhole  project  of  the  Israel- 
ites to  invade  such  a  land  would  prove,  if 
tried,  defeat  and  ruin. 

While  they  thus  spoke,  a  thrill  ran  through 
the  listening  crowds,  which,  for  a  moment, 
Caleb,  one  of  the  two  hitherto  silent  spies, 
stilled  by  raising  his  voice  and  exclaiming,  if 
they  would  but  go  forward  boldly  in  the  way 
of  God,  they  would  easily,  spite  of  all  that  had 
been  said,  possess  the  land.  But  the  false- 
hearted eight,  made  resolute  in  their  tale  by 
the  sympathetic  panic  it  had  moved,  repeated 
it  in  yet  stronger  color,  and  straightway,  with 
all  that  impulse  of  blindness  and  abjectness 
with  which  the  Israelite  story  so  often  amazes 
and  repels  us,  a  wail  ran  throughout  the  con- 
gregation ;  the  people,  we  are  told,  wept  that 
night ;  and  then,  passing  from  grief  to  rage, 
as  though  by  this  long,  bootless  circuit  out  of 
Egypt,  they  had  been  at  last  deceived  to  their 
shame  and  ruin,  they  clamored  to  depose 
Moses  and  Aaron  from  the  lead,  and  that  they 
should  themselves  choose  a  captain  who  would 
guide  them  back  to  Egypt.     In  the  face  of 


SEEN    BUT    LOST.  297 

this  wild  and  worst  mutiny  there  had  been, 
Joshua  and  Caleb,  the  two  spies  faithful  among 
the  faithless,  rent  their  clothes  and  made  a 
vehement  appeal ;  they  denied  not  there  were 
difficulties  in  the  way— that  Canaan  would  be 
won  only  by  warfare  and  conquest ;  but  they 
exclaimed  it  would  amply  repay  the  effort ; 
and  as  for  the  strength  of  cities  and  of  men — • 
Israel  had  God  upon  her  side,  and  these  ad- 
versaries, strong  as  they  were,  would,  in  such 
a  case,  perish  before  her.  Never,  in  short, 
was  it  a  moment  like  the  present,  when  it  was 
win  all  or  lose  all  with  Israel.  But  the  tumult 
scarce  gave  ear ;  instead  of  that  the  people 
took  up  stones  to  stone  l^e  two  daring  hin- 
derers  of  their  panic  to  death. 

In  this  critical  moment  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  con- 
gregation, breaking  forth  as  though  the  tab- 
ernacle were  on  flame ;  and,  turning  from  the 
no  doubt  silenced  and  abashed  multitude, 
Moses  hastened  into  the  awful  Presence. 
Once  more  divine  wrath  was  waxing  to  the 
very  brink   of  Israel's   destruction ;  and   in 


298  SEEN    BUT   LOST. 

plain  phrase  God  told  His  servant  He  would 
sweep  the  people  with  a  pestilence,  and  in- 
state him  and  his  family  in  their  room.  But 
tlie  unflinching  fidelity  of  Moses  to  his  great 
mission,  tried  thus  again,  failed  him  not  a 
second.  He  threw  himself  before  God,  and 
poured  out  an  entreaty  that  He  would  deal 
not  so  with  His  people — not  because  they  de- 
served other — but  in  truth  deserved  the  very 
worst  at  the  hand  of  heaven ;  but  God  was 
pledged  to  redeem  them  to  the  last ;  the 
divine  name  and  power  and  faithfulness  were 
all,  in  face  of  the  heathen  world,  embarked  in 
this  cause  of  bringing  the  Israelites  into  the 
Promised  Land ;  andfor  that  reason  alone  the 
task,  desperate  as  it  seemed,  must  be  achieved. 
Not  one  spot  of  calumny  or  reflection  must 
ever  rest  upon  the  pure  raiment  of  God's 
word  and  promise.  It  is  strange  to  read  this 
passage — as  if  the  earthly  creature  were  more 
prompt  and  clear-sighted  than  the  dread  and 
blessed  Creator :  but  it  is  one  of  those  pas- 
sages in  which  the  truer  meaning  is,  that  God 
seized  the  occasion  to  evoke  the  noble  graces 


SEEN    BUT    LOST.  299 

He  Himself  had  planted  in  His  servant's  char- 
acter and  heart — Himself  retiring  back  into 
imperfect  shadow,  as  it  were,  that  these  graces, 
as  in  the  prayer  and  fervor  of  Moses,  might 
stand  more  luminously  forth.  Accordingly, 
the  mighty  God,  after  this  manner,  is  seen  as 
if  convinced  by  the  human  reasoning,  and 
bowing  Himself  to  the  human  entreaty.  He 
would  spare  the  people  for  the  present.  He 
said.  He  would  not  abate  Him  of  His  pur- 
pose to  give  Israel  the  good  land.  But  while 
mercy  was  to  triumph,  judgment  also  must, 
after  these  outrageous  events,  have  its  wit- 
ness ;  and  therefore  though  the  covenant  God 
had  sworn  to  would  stand.  He  doomed  that 
the  then  pilgrim  generation  should  have  no 
share  therein.  They  had  filled  the  cup  of 
their  provocations  full ;  and  now,  instead  of 
giving  them  these  Canaan  ridges  within  sight, 
He  would  turn  them  back  into  the  vv^ilderness. 
He  would  keep  them  wandering  there  till 
every  one  of  the  p.  then  living,  from  twenty 
years  old  and  upwards,  should  die.  Forty 
years  would  He  imprison  them  thus  in  the 


300  SEEN    BUT   LOST. 

desert  wastes  ;  and  only  when — Joshna  and 
Caleb  alone  excepted— the  last  grave  should 
be  dug,  and  the  last  of  the  rebel  thousands  laid 
in  its  dust,  would  He  bring  Israel  into  rest. 

There  was  no  gainsaying,  even  by  the  zeal- 
ous Moses,  this  terrible,  but  righteous,  sen- 
tence; and,  as  if  already  to  bring  home  its 
bitter  first-fruits,  God  smote  the  eight  slan- 
derous spies  then  and  there  with  a  plague 
that  they  died.  The  stroke  must  have 
recalled  the  people  to  a  sense  once  more  of 
Him  with  whom  they  had  to  do.  And  when 
Moses  added  to  their  rising  fears,  by  sadly 
telling  them  what  now  were  God's  purposes  : 
that  to  them  the  land  had  been  a  few  hours 
before  such  that  all  conquests  of  it  were  pos- 
sible, noiv  impossible ;  touched  and  tasted  by 
them,  but  never  to  be  grasped  ;  seen,  but  for 
ever  lost ;  there  was  a  rapid  passing  back 
from  one  passionate  extreme  to  another;  so 
that  now,  stung  with  remorse,  they  mourned 
greatly.  Was  it  true  that  all  had  hung  upon 
the  balance  of  a  moment,  and  that  moment, 
allowed  h^  them  to  slip,  was  irretrievable  ? 


SEEN    BUT    LOST.  801 

that  what  might  have  been  yesterday  could 
not  now  be  to-day  ?  that  the  prize,  so  within 
their  grasp,  and  still  hanging  there  before 
them,  could  no  more  be  reached  now  for 
ever?  It  seemed  to  them  incredible;  and 
blind  in  their  despair  the  one  way  as  they 
had  been  in  the  other — spurred  as  men  are 
who  have  lost  some  signal  opportunity,  and 
who,  instead  of  drawing  themselves  back,  col- 
lecting their  force,  and  waiting  patiently  for 
the  opportunity  to  come  again,  dash  reck- 
lessly and  excitedly  after  what  is  lost,  as 
though  passion,  all  off  its  guard,  would  be 
likely  to  achieve  that  which  coolness  and 
deliberateness  at  the  right  moment  might 
have  done  but  did  not ;  spurred  in  such  man- 
ner, I  say,  the  Israelites  would  not  believe 
their  one  great  chance  gone ;  they  exclaimed 
they  would  yet  retrieve  it ;  and  in  the  teeth 
of  Moses'  remonstrance,  and  the  fact — that 
should  have  been  enough — that  the  cloud  of 
God's  presence  stirred  not  off  its  spot  to  be 
their  guide,  they  hurried  tumultuously  by  the 
hill-route  into  the  region  of  the  Amalekites 


302  SEEN    BUT    LOST. 

lying  northward.  What  now,  compared  with 
the  loss  that  threatened  them,  was  the  stature 
of  the  giants  or  the  fencing  of  the  cities  they 
had  yesterday  so  feared?  But,  alas!  it  was 
too  late.  The  Amalekites  met  them  in  dis- 
order and  exhaustion ;  and  in  the  shame  of 
defeat,  as  they  were  driven  back  to  Kadesh, 
they  were  taught  bitterly — oh,  how  bitterly ! — 
how  great  their  sin  of  halting  just  upon  the 
brink;  how  precious  beyond  count  the  mo- 
ment they  had  refused  and  lost ;  and  how, 
God  Himself  now  standing  in  the  way,  the 
prize  they  might  have  snatched  could  be 
redeemed  no  more ! 

The  whole  blindness  of  the  unhappy  peo- 
ple lay  in  this,  that  they  believed  their  own 
conjured-up  shadows  more  than  they  did  the 
simple,  plainly-seen  realities  of  God.  Two 
things  were  set  before  them  on  the  spies' 
return — here,  in  ripe  blood-red  grapes,  tan- 
gible assurance  of  the  land,  first-fruits  of  that 
which,  according  to  divine  promise,  flowed 
with  milk  and  honey — and  these  were  the 
realities  of  God  ;  there,  on  the  other  hand,  a 


SEEN    BUT    LOST.  303 

report  of  giant  adversaries  to  be  fought,  and 
cities  walled  up  to  heaven  to  be  taken — and 
these,  though  having  undoubtedly  some  foun- 
dation in  fact,  were  the  absurdly  exaggerated 
shadows    of    human    fear.       The    Israelites 
dropped  sight  altogether  of  the  former,  and 
turned  with   dilated  gaze  only  to   the  dark 
proportions  of  the  latter.     Had  they  done  as 
the    clear-sighted   Joshua   and    Caleb    urged 
them — confessed  there  ivas  something  in  the 
Anaks  and  the  walled  cities  needing  courage 
and  conquest,  but  not  more  than   one  right 
manly  effort,  specially  of  a  God-led  people,  was 
equal  to — had   they,  in   short,    reduced    the 
human  shadows   down  to  their  true  dimen- 
sions, then  fastened  their  eyes  on  these  first- 
fruit  grapes,  and  seen  in  them  omens  of  the 
glorious  land,  and  given  way  to  the  swelling 
in  their  hearts  of  that  desire  to  win  it  the 
unworthiest  of  them  did  really  cherish  ;  had 
they  weighed  matters    thus,   and   girt    their 
loins  up,  and  gone  swiftly  forward,   there  is 
no  question  but,  in  one  good  stroke,  Canaan 
would  have  been  theirs.     But  the  terrors  of 


304  SEEN    BUT    LOST. 

the  way,  looming  and  expanding  in  their 
imaginations,  they  allowed  to  outweigh  and 
darken  God's  plain  pledges,  although  these 
pledges  lay  at  their  very  feet;  and  dearly 
though  they  coveted  the  Canaan  home,  in 
these  terrors  they  lost  its  sight ;  it  was  offered 
them,  a  splendid  chance,  but  they  were  so 
fear-enwrapped  it  moved  them  not  ;  they 
shrank  from  its  possession,  and  for  that  rea- 
son, victims  of  their  own  exaggerations,  they 
were  turned  back  into  the  wilderness,  to 
linger  hopelessly  and  to  die. 

So  we  get  at  the  root  of  many  sad  defec- 
tions in  the  Christian  faith  as  well.  What  a 
scope  of  grace  and  privilege  and  rejoicing 
and  advancement  in  the  life  of  God  is  often 
refused  by  us,  although  within  reach  and 
sight,  just  because  some  dark  spectres  or 
other,  more  or  less  the  creatures  of  our  own 
flmcy,  rise  up  perpetually  and  intervene. 
One  man,  for  example,  cannot  make  up  his 
mind  to  a  religious  life  led  on  a  higher  plat- 
form than  the  average,  because  he  dreads  the 
face  of  that  society  he  mixes  in,  and  to  whose 


SEEN    BUT    LOST.  305 

tone  and  maxims  he  is  bound  hand  and  foot. 
Another  dares  not,  because  life  in  Christ,  he 
foresees,  would  demand  from  him  the  sacri- 
fice of  tastes  and  habits  and  modes  of  exist- 
ence in  the  world  whose  loss  he  could  not 
bear.  Another  dares  not,  because  the  strain 
would  be  too  high  and  constant — ^life  in  Christ 
too  unearthly — he  could  not  keep  his  bow 
bent  always  at  that  awful  tension.  And  so 
on,  for  the  Anaks  and  the  fenced  cities  with- 
standing us,  as  we  suppose,  are  legion.  And 
in  consequence  there  ensues  that  sorrowful 
spectacle  of  so  many  one  would  conclude  in 
the  path  to  Zion,  who  yet  linger  afar,  and  on 
the  same  outskirting  spots  near  God's  king- 
dom year  by  year — the  privileges  and  life  of 
the  good  land  in  sight — their  eyes  desiring, 
and  their  speech  telling  you  they  wish  they 
were  such  men  as  God's  saints  have  been,  and 
were  clad  in  such  spotless  garments  as  the 
holy  of  the  earth  have  worn — yet  without 
courage  to  make  real  claims  for  themselves, 
to  cross  the  frontier,  to  possess  what  God 
holds  out  as  free  to  them  as  ever  He  made 


306  SEEN    BUT    LOST. 

proffer  to  the  highest  of  His  saints :  they  fear 
the  obstacles  between,  and  in  their  fancy  give 
them  such  a  bulk  that,  like  the  Israelites,  their 
own  shadows  are  always  sweeping  on  God's 
lisfht — the  Anaks  and  the  walled  cities  are 
always  more  to  them  than  the  grapes  of 
Eshcol — and  all  their  lifetime  they  keep  wan- 
dering in  the  desert,  looking  wistfully  towards 
that  land  very  far  off,  that  might,  if  they  had 
but  heart  for  it,  be  very  nigh.  We  cannot 
but  all  have  had  experience,  greater  or  less, 
of  this  unhappy  chapter  of  spiritual  life  in 
ourselves.  We  long,  yet  we  dare  not.  We 
extend  the  hand,  but  we  grasp  not.  We 
make  movement  upwards,  but  we  sink  again. 
As  does  the  poor  fettered  bird  flying  up  to 
.the  height  of  the  cord  that  binds  it ;  it  is  for 
the  moment  in  a  keen  delight,  and  sings,  and 
has  its  eye  on  the  free  heaven ;  but  the  sud- 
den check,  alas,  is  given,  both  to  song  and 
flight,  and  back  it  is  brought  fluttering  to  the 
earth.  So  we,  in  some  earnest  season,  feel  an 
impulse  as  from  God,  and  we  set  the  gaze  to 
go  over  and  possess  His  good  land ;  but  the 


SEEN    BUT    LOST.  307 

entanglements  on  this  earthly  side  are  too 
strongly  warped,  and,  ere  Ave  go  far,  they 
check  us,  and  the  impulse  dies. 

What,  my  reader,  can  there  be  for  an  escap- 
ing from  this  mournful  fate,  but  to  invert  the 
Israelite  mistake  ?  They  looked  at  the  bar- 
riers between  them  and  Canaan  till  their  pro- 
portions far  outgrew  the  reality,  and  in  their 
shadow  the  foretaste  God  had  given  of  the 
land  was  lost.  Suppose  tve  look  at  the  ripe 
grapes,  and  at  the  light  of  beauty  on  the  land 
which  tells  us  it  does  flow  with  milk  and 
honey,  till  the  barrier  of  the  giants  and  the 
fenced  cities  is,  in  turn,  comparatively  lost. 
Not  that  we  would  underrate  the  real  obsta- 
cles there  are  between  us  and  the  gains  of 
God's  kingdom.  We  are  warned  that  to  live 
the  life  of  Christ  in  the  world  is  a  race — a 
battle — a  continual  strain,  needing  effort  on 
effort,  conquest  on  conquest.  But  then  the 
principle  is,  to  set,  as  the  crown  over  all 
these,  the  unutterable  prize — and,  with  eyes 
fixed  on  that,  and  heart  going  forth  passion- 
ately after  that,  to  press  forward  in  such  wise, 


308  SEEN    BUT    LOST. 

as  that  we  shall  count  our  worst  battle  in  the 
way,  in  comparison,  not  worthy  of  a  fear — 
the  worst  stroke  of  the  adversary  we  shall  feel 
flilling  on  us  light  as  dust.  Such  was  the 
ardent  energy  of  Joshua  and  Caleb  ;  they  by 
no  means  despised  the  giants  and  their  strong 
cities,  but  they  thought  most  of  God's  pledges 
given  them,  and  the  land  so  glorious  and  so 
near,  and  they  were  ready,  in  the  confidence 
of  God,  to  scatter  all  the  strength  of  every 
enemy  like  chaff  Such,  too,  was  Paul's 
secret,  when  he  set  eye  on  the  glittering  prize 
held  out  to  him  in  Christ,  and,  for  its  sake, 
forgot  the  things  that  were  behind  and 
pressed  on  to  those  that  were  before,  towards 
that  prize — when  again  he  spoke  of  the  light 
affliction  which  was  but  for  a  moment,  (bitter 
really  and  deep-piercing  it  was,)  but  not  to 
be  compared  with  the  glory  that  should  be 
revealed — when  again  he  urged  all  Christian 
competitors,  like  himself,  to  let  their  whole 
soul  fasten  not  on  the  difficulties  of  the  path, 
but  on  the  splendid  goal,  and  then  ''so  to  run, 
that  they  might  obtain," — and  when,  finally, 


SEEN    BUT   LOST.  309 

he  bade  the  sufferers  of  the  Lord  in  this  world 
to  "lay  aside  every  weight,  and  the  sin  that 
more  easily  beset  them,  and  to  run  their  race 
with  patience,"  the  charm  that  lured  them  on, 
that  sank  all  else  to  nothing,  that  shook  all 
hindrances  and  enemies  aside,  being  the 
''looking  unto  Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher 
of  their  faith." 

Such  must  be  our  secret  yet.  Instead  of 
looking  at  the  ills  and  adversaries  round  us, 
whose  number  and  whose  stature  are  at  least 
made  always  tenfold  in  our  fears,  we  must 
look  at  the  pledges  and  the  first-fruits  of 
grace,  of  blessing,  of  God's  Spirit,  given  us 
day  by  day  a  hundred  times  over ;  oh,  we 
must  look,  in  the  face  of  Christ,  at  God  Him- 
self! It  was  the  saving  of  Peter  in  the  waves, 
when  he  walked  at  his  own  request  to  Jesus, 
that,  after  for  a  moment,  as  he  had  looked  down 
on  the  heaving  billow,  and  his  feet  then  sank, 
and  his  heart  died  within  him,  he  upraised  his 
eyes  again  to  the  mighty  Lord,  crying,  "  Save 
me,  I  perish!"  and  the  peril  instantly  was 
gone.     It  was  the  victory,  too,  of  him  we 


310  SEEN    BUT   LOST. 

read  of  in  the  old  tale,  as  he  approached  the 
golden  house — the  gate  was  beset  with  a  host 
of  terrors,  and  had  he  considered  these  only, 
he  should  have  recoiled  without  hope — but 
on  the  battlements  above  walked  saints  glori- 
ously attired  and  beautiful,  and  offering  him 
like  reward  ;  and  his  whole  soul  settling  itself 
on  these,  he  set  down  his  name  at  once,  fought 
a  stout  conflict,  and  won  his  way.     So,  if  we 
look  up  in  the  sunshine,  we  shall  never  then 
think  of  turning  our  backs,  or  so  much  as  turn- 
ing aslant,  to  see  our  own  shadows.     If  we 
fill  the  eye  and  the  soul  with  Christ,  we  shall 
have  room  for  nought  else ;  all  the  evil  shad- 
ows, flung  from  self  and  from  the  world  in 
such  abundance,  will  vanish ;  all  that   flesh 
can  do  unto  us  will  wane  to  nothing !     Should 
the  heaviest  weight  of  fear  or  sorroAV  settle 
on  us,  we  can  always  have  recourse  to  the 
thick-strewn  mercies  of  our  Lord,  to  His  word 
of  promise,  to  His  holy  ordinances,  to  the  first- 
fruits  of  His  Spirit,  to  the  gleams  yonder  of 
the  good  land,  to  the  gathered  grapes  He 
already  brings  from  it  to  our  feet — we  can 


SEEN    BUT    LOST.  311 

always  betake  ourselves  to  these — and,  as  the 
soul  satisfies  itself  in  them,  and  rises  in  a 
brighter  and  grander  encouragement  than 
ever,  we  can  exclaim — "  If  God  be  for  us, 
who  can  be  against  us  ?"  "  I  am  persuaded, 
that  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor 
principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present, 
nor  things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor 
any  other  creature,  shall  be  able  to  separate 
us  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in  Christ 
Jesus  our  Lord!" 

Has  not  this  triumph  come  from  the  lips  of 
long  sickness — has  it  not  been  breathed  from 
the  lips  of  death  ?  And  surely  nothing  but 
the  heart-ardor,  going  out  alway  to  the  com- 
ing Jesus  and  the  heaven,  the  good  land.  He  is 
to  bring,  can  sustain  us  at  the  point  of  real 
superiority  to  all  our  foes.  Nothing  but  such 
heart-ardor  can  give  power  and  earnestness 
to  any  of  our  drawings  nigh  to  God — can 
wrench  us  from  the  network  of  self  and  earth 
— can  seize  for  us  those  many  golden  hours 
of  spiritual  opportunity  we  timorously,  and, 
to   our   own  incalculable  loss,  let   slip — can 


312  SEEN    BUT   LOST. 

redeem  us  from  that  sorrowful  inanimateness, 
that  wilderness  wandering,  that  lethargy  of 
years'  and  years'  arrested  graces,  into  which  so 
many,  by  their  shrinking  back  from  God's 
call,  have  been  doomed — and  can  save  us, 
above  all,  and  at  last,  from  that  curse  that  fell 
on  the  Israelites — the  gateway  of  God  opened 
to  them,  but  unentered — the  good  land  seen, 
but  lost ! 


XXIII. 

The  sullen  temper  bred  by  their  great  dis- 
appointment was  now,  in  the  Israelites  at 
Kadesh,  like  a  smoldering  fire  which  any 
chance  breath  might  blow  into  flame — like  a 
latent  disease  any  chance  touch  might  develop 
into  virulence.  So  the  formidable  rebellion 
of  Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram,  is  the  next 
scene  we  light  on.  Korah  was  an  ambitious 
Levite,  jealous  of  the  supremacy  of  Moses  and 
Aaron,  and  now  passionately  bent  on  having 
them  supplanted ;  the  others  were  of  the  tribe 
of  Reuben,  eldest  of  the  tribes  af  Israel ;  and 
Korah  had  likely  wrought  upon  them  by  the 
proposal  of  a  popular  appeal  that  would  en- 
gage the  whole  camp  in  their  favor,  overturn 
the  two  brothers,  and,  by  a  new  order,  re- 
store Reuben  to  its  rightful  place.  Accord- 
ingly, with  this    cunning  bait   appended   to 

14  818 


314      BETWEEN    THE    DEAD   AND    THE    LIVING. 

it,  the  conspiracy   ran   through   the   people 
deep  and  wide. 

The  instant  it  came  to  light,  and  its  inso- 
lent voice  was  heard  accusing  Moses  both  of 
presumption  and  of  failure,  the  latter  proposed 
God  should  be  umpire.  Korah  did  not  shrink 
from  the  ordeal,  nor  in  spirit  did  Dathan  and 
Abiram  ;  but  the  latter  two  openly  refused  to 
heed  the  authority  of  Moses  in  any  way,  and 
sent  him  a  reply  of  scorn  from  their  tents 
The  deeply-moved  heart  that  had  endured  so 
much  for  Israel  could  scarce  bear  more. 
Moses  prayed  God  therefore  now  to  let  loose 
His  arm.  So,  on  the  morrow,  the  people  were 
ranged  before  the  tabernacle.  If  still  in  the 
valley  of  Petra,  the  scene  must  have  been  be- 
yond description  grand — first,  the  swarms 
moving  in  the  low  ground,  then  the  scattered 
groups  set  on  every  shelf  of  the  purple  cliffs 
round,  and  in  the  heart  of  all,  on  some  well- 
seen  platform,  the  tabernacle  of  God,  Moses 
standing  pallid  and  lofty  at  its  front  altar,  and 
the  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  the  company  of 
Korah  advancing  on  the  holy  space,  each  his 


BETWEEN    THE    DEAD    AND    THE    LIVING.      315 

brazen  censer  in  his  hand,  and  for  the  trial 
before  God.  Korah  seems  to  have  lost  no 
confidence  ;  he  had  based  his  plot  on  the  plea 
that  any  man  in  the  congregation  was  as  holy 
as  its  two  leaders — that  is,  with  an  unscrupu- 
lous artfulness  and  success  the  world  has  often 
in  like  cases  seen  since,  he  had  roused  and 
won  to  his  side  the  popular  feeling  ;  and  as 
he  emerged  on  the  clear  ground  before  Moses, 
the  whole  massed  camp  was  as  if  drawn  in  a 
dense  ring  behind  him.  The  glory  of  the 
Lord  at  that  moment  rested  on  His  servants, 
and  a  voice  bade  them  stand  aside,  that  the 
whole  wedged  mass  before  them  might  be 
consumed.  But  Moses  in  his  quick  self-for- 
getfulness  interposed — were  the  people  not 
but  mere  victims  of  their  own  ignorance 
and  folly,  and  would  the  sin  of  the  one  man 
who  had  misled  them  bring  death  on  all  ? 
Wherefore  God,  so  far  relenting,  commanded 
as  the  next  thing  a  line  of  separation  round 
the  conspirators  and  their  tents,  that,  in  that 
doomed  circle,  they  at  least  should  perish. 
Moses  could  not  but  obev  this  second  voice ; 


316      BETWEEN    THE    DEAD   AND    THE    LIVING. 

and  crying  so  earnestly  to  the  people  that 
with  an  instinct  of  fear  they  fell  back  at  once 
— the  tent  of  Korah,  which,  as  that  of  a  Le- 
vite,  was  near  the  tabernacle,  and  the  tents 
of  Dathan  and  Abiram,  which,  as  those  of  the 
next  leading  tribe  in  Israel,  were  pitched 
close  behind  it,  stood  awfully  isolated  before 
the  multitude,  and  before  God.  Dathan  and 
Abiram,  all  they  and  theirs,  were  in  their 
tents — some,  as  if  contemptuously,  standing 
in  the  tent  doors ;  Korah  and  his  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  accomplices  bringing  with 
them  censers,  very  likely  by  this  time  in  a 
dark  uncertainty,  at  the  sanctuary  threshold 
— when  Moses,  in  a  loud  voice,  brought  the 
test  of  God  to  bear.  If  his  rule  was  not  from 
heaven,  these  within  the  tents  would  die  com- 
mon deaths ;  if  from  heaven,  the  earth  would 
open  then  and  there  beneath  them,  and  be 
their  grave.  Scarce  had  he  spoken  the  word 
when  the  ground  yawned  asunder — tents, 
men,  women,  children,  as  in  a  flash  of  pale 
horror,  were  ingulfed ;  and  the  thrill  and  cry 
that  ran  round  the  vale  and  cliffs  told   the 


BETWEEN    THE    DEAD    AND    THE    LIVING.      317 

judgment  of  the  Lord  was  done.  Following 
hard  on  this  pitiless  sweep,  fire  darted  on  the 
two  hundred  and  fifty  who  would  have  bro- 
ken the  fences  of  the  priesthood,  and  they, 
too,  perished  as  they  stood.  Only  their  bra- 
zen censers  were  upcaught  amidst  the  flames, 
and  beat  into  plates  for  an  altar  covering, 
that  Israel,  coming  daily  to  its  worship  and 
beholding  that  memorial,  might  forget  God's 
visitation  never. 

So  Korah  and  his  company  were  repressed 
into  sudden  nothingness.  Yet  even  so  terri- 
ble a  lesson  did  not  at  the  hour  come  home — 
the  mutinous  cause  had  taken  too  fast  hold  in 
the  popular  heart ;  and  after  brooding  in  the 
darkness  of  the  tents  all  night,  the  people 
next  morning  began  afresh  to  turn  upon  the 
brothers,  crying,  as  their  crowds  moved  and 
seethed  uneasily  about,  that  they  had  been 
the  slayers  of  the  Lord's  people.  Moses  and 
Aaron  fled  as  before  into  the  shelter  of  God's 
presence ;  and  as  they  stood  there  and  the 
murmur  deepened  through  the  host,  this  time 
the  anger  of  the  Most  High  could  not  be  held 


318  BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING. 

back.  While  His  two  servants  fell  upon  their 
faces,  He  let  loose  in  the  valley  a  pestilence 
of  death.  Moses,  with  all  his  acute  instincts, 
felt  it  was  abroad,  and,  instantly  recovered  to 
his  old  sublime  stand  of  mediation,  he 
exclaimed  to  Aaron  that  he  should  delay  not 
a  moment,  but  snatching  the  fire  of  God  off 
the  altar  into  his  censer,  should  rush  into  the 
breach  between  the  dead  and  the  living,  and, 
by  that  incense  of  atonement,  stay  the  plague. 
Aaron  hurried  to  obey.  He  bore  the  swing- 
ing vessel,  flaming  and  smoking  in  his  hand  ; 
he  ran  through  the  affrighted  multitude  ;  he 
found  the  pathway  of  the  plague  as  it  came 
on,  mowing  down  as  with  an  unseen  scythe 
its  thousands ;  and  there,  where  the  stark 
corpses  lay,  and  the  sweep  of  death  was  still 
advancing,  he  set  his  feet — his  priestly  figure 
in  its  robes  of  sacredness  faced  the  destroyer ; 
he  waved  his  heaven-lit  censer  in  atoning 
power  before  God — he  stood  between  the 
dead  and  the  living ;  and  the  plague  was 
stayed ! 

Peace  then,  and  almost  literally  the  peace 


BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING.   319 

of  death,  fell  on  the  valley.  It  had  been  at  a 
heavy  cost  Israel  had  ever  lent  ear  to  the  arts 
of  Korah,  as  must  have  bitterly  been  felt 
while  the  thousands  that  had  died  plague- 
stricken  were  being  buried  in  the  earth,  and 
cairns  raised  on  their  graves.  Wherefore,  to 
imprint  this  page  of  events  in  such  wise  on 
the  Israelite  heart  that,  in  the  direction  of  the 
Aaronic  priesthood  at  least,  it  should  rebel  no 
more,  God  directed  the  well-knowm  competi- 
tion of  the  almond  rods,  each  tribe  furnishing 
a  rod,  and  all  being  laid  up  w^ithin  the  sanc- 
tuary. When  the  group  was  unveiled  upon 
the  morrow,  Aaron's  rod  alone  was  found  to 
have  budded  and  blossomed  and  yielded 
alm.onds ;  and  the  sign  w\is  such  that  the 
tribes  yielded  the  Levite  supremacy  for  ever, 
and  each  departed  to  his  own,  hushed  in  soul, 
and  these  late  events  casting  on  him,  as  it 
were,  the  repressive  hand  of  death. 

Passing  other  points  in  this  tragic  page,  it 
cannot  but  arrest  us,  how  sublime  the  attitude, 
not  of  Moses,  for  it  was  no  strange  thing  for 
Moses  to  place  himself  in  the  most  desperate 


320      BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING. 

breach,  but  of  the  less  heroic  Aaron,  as,  rising 
to  the  occasion,  he  asserted  the  glory  of  his 
priesthood — his  feet  set,  his  censer  waved, 
between  the  dead  and  the  living,  so  that  the 
plague  was  stayed.  Was  it  not  in  shadow 
the  attitude  of  Him  Who  has  since  come  into 
the  world  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was 
lost — Whose  bleeding  feet  were  planted  in 
the  very  tide-way  of  sin  and  death — the 
incense  of  Whose  life,  poured  out  upon  the 
cross,  broke  the  sweep  of  these  destroyers  for 
ever — Whose  place  even  now,  where  He 
intercedes  for  us,  is  a  place  of  arresting 
power,  whereby  He  holds  His  people  safe 
folded  within  the  circle  of  life  on  the  one 
side,  and  on  the  other  sets  their  dread 
enemies,  death  and  hell,  at  bay,  till  finally  He 
shall  destroy  them,  and  cast  them  into  the 
lake  of  fire  for  ever  ? 

Was  it  not  also  in  type  the  very  attitude 
that  has  been  taken  by  all  true  ministers  in 
the  Church  of  Christ,  who  have  been  con- 
sumed as  with  a  passion  for  saving  souls — 
wdio  have  counted  no  sacrifice  too  great,  not 


BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING.      321 

life  itself,  if  by  any  possibility  they  might 
save  some — who,  in  their  fervor,  and  their 
pity,  and  their  fearlessness,  have  been  every- 
where that  a  door  would  open  to  them,  bearing 
with  them  "the  fulness  of  the  blessing  of  the 
gospel,"  snatching  prey  from  Satan  unto  God, 
and  not  even  in  the  worst  depths  shrinking 
from  conflict  with  the  destroyer,  but  there 
"  saving  with  fear,  pulling  out  of  the  fire  ?" 

Was  it  not  also  the  attitude  in  which  those 
strike  us  as  standing  who  have  been  raised 
up  by  God  to  re-awaken  the  Church  and  the 
world  to  His  truth — who  have  shaken  the 
dust  of  ages  of  corruption  from  His  holy 
Word — who  have  struck  off  the  deadening 
appendages  of  men,  whereby,  as  with  poison- 
ous creepers,  spiritual  life  and  gospel  truth 
again  and  again  have  been  overrun  and  well- 
nigh  destroyed — who  at  all  hazards  have 
freed  the  living  from  the  dead,  and  given  it 
in  its  simple  gleaming  beauty  again,  like  a 
new  and  glorious  birth  to  the  world  ? 

Was  it  not  also  in  figure  that  attitude  daily 

taken  in  our  own  hearts  by  the  Holy  Spirit, 
14^^ 


322   BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING. 

carrying  on  His  mysterious  but  effectual 
work :  parting  us,  so  to  speak,  from  our  for- 
mer selves  ;  rearing  up  the  heavenly,  quench- 
ing the  earthly  ;  cherishing  the  living  grace, 
staying  the  stealthy  infection  that  comes  even 
from  the  relics  of  dead  sin  ;  in  a  word,  making 
us  "  new  creatures  in  Christ  Jesus ;  old  things 
passing  away ;  all  things  becoming  new  ?" 
Yea,  to  that  extent  does  the  ever-vigilant 
Spirit  of  God  carry  this  working  out  of  sal- 
vation in  us,  standing  on  the  line  between  the 
dead  and  the  living,  that,  at  whatever  cost, 
the  portions  in  us  plague-smitten  beyond 
rescue  must  be,  and  are,  lopped  away,  if  only 
at  last  the  life  be  saved.  Hence  the  dire 
experience  of  those  for  whom  a  thrice-heated 
crucible  is  ordained,  as  their  only  pathway 
back  to  God ;  and  hence  the  searcbingness 
of  Christ's  saying,  that,  if  even  the  right  eye 
and  the  right  hand  be  the  offending  members, 
better  to  have  the  one  plucked  out  and  the 
other  cut  off — better  to  enter  heaven  blind 
and  maimed — than,  retaining  all,  to  be  cast 
into  hell-fire. 


BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING.      323 

And,   finally,   was  Aaron's   stand  between 
the  dead  and  the  living  not  in  figure  that  atti- 
tude ordained  for  all  who,  in  the  desert  way, 
are  following  Jesus  ?     By  our  very  part  with 
Him,  we  are  more  consecrated  than  was  even 
Aaron;  for  we  are  "kings  and  priests  unto 
the  Father  through  His  blood."     What,  then, 
is  involved  in  that,  but  that  we  put  our  awful 
consecration   to   the   test;   that,   seeing    each 
day  and  scene  we  pass  through,  there  are  ever 
these  two  elements  at  w^ar — the  kingdom  of 
God's  grace  and  the  kingdom  of  the  wicked 
QYie — the   living   and   the   dead — the    latter 
often  advancing,  too,  upon  the  former,  subtly, 
like  the  footsteps  of  a  plague ;  what  follows 
for  us  but  that,  in  our  heaven-pledged  charac- 
ter, we  slay  the  evil  and  throw  shelter  on  the 
good ;  we  bear  the  help  of  Christ  where  we 
can  ;  we  strike  in  to  ease  pain,  to  raise  the 
fallen,  to  give  strength  to  the  tempted,  com- 
fort to  the  sorrowful,  light,  as  a  censer  lamp, 
borne  from  the  Cross,  to  the  dying  ?     Thou- 
sands, it  is  true,  have  but  a  faint  sense  of  obli- 
gation thus,  or  lack  it  altogether.     Yet  sure  I 


324     BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING. 

am  that,  were  the  veil  of  life  around  us 
stripped  off,  and  we  saw  the  ravages  of  the 
destroyer,  the  unutterable  human  miseries, 
the  slain  souls,  the  souls,  still  more  numerous, 
palpitating  a  near  prey,  upon  the  brink  ;  not 
the  poorest  Christian  conscience  but  would 
spring  alive  with  the  promptitude  and  self- 
abandonment  of  Aaron,  and  in  Christ's  name 
stand  between  the  dead  and  the  living,  that 
the  plague  might  be  stayed.  And  so  much 
do  I  hold  it  to  be  a  part  of  God's  meaning 
for  us  that  the  place  and  attitude  of  Aaron  be 
our  pattern,  that  I  believe  a  second  consecra- 
tion is  put  on  some— even  that  of  passing 
through  the  scourging  of  affliction — to  fit 
them  for  the  work.  For,  speaking  comfort 
out  of  an  untried  heart,  I  may  chance  to 
touch  faintly  the  right  key  in  the  broken 
heart  to  which  1  come  ;  but,  tried  and  searched 
myself,  I  enter  then  with  perfect  certainty 
into  its  very  depths — I  stand  between  its 
dead  and  its  living,  and  I  help  to  stay  its 
plague.  Untried  myself,  I  know  only  as  a 
muffled   sound   the   deeper   voice   of    Ggd'g 


BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING.   325 

Word;  tried,  that  Word  rings  like  a  clear 
bell  upon  my  ear,  and  in  all  its  emphasis  and 
power  I  can  then  arrest  thought,  and  raise 
hope,  and  quell  the  adversary,  in  the  hearts 
of  others.  In  short,  untried,  I  am  only  so 
far  qualified,  if  I  may  use  the  illustration,  as 
were  the  magic  rods  of  the  Egyptian  enchant- 
ers, that  could  work  their  w^onders  to  a  cer- 
tain point ;  but,  heated,  tempered,  molded,  in 
the  affliction  fires  of  God,  I  become  as  the 
rod  of  Aaron,  that,  instinct  with  its  divine 
magnetism,  wrought  charms  far  beyond  all 
the  others,  and  by  w^hich  it  was  declared  to 
be  the  channel  of  the  power  of  God.  What 
a  meaning,  then,  to  the  awful  sorrows  in 
some  lives !  what  a  meaning  to  the  poorest 
and  the  weakest  God  has  thrust  aside  upon 
his  bed  !  It  is  the  second  baptism  of  heaven. 
It  is  that  you  be  made  fully  fraught  with 
holy  preparation ;  that  you  may  be  anointed 
with  a  grace  beyond  the  common  run ;  that 
you  may  be  charged  with  the  intensity  and 
reality  of  that  spirit,  that,  even  in  your  sim- 
plest word,  w^ill  give  you  wondrous  power 


326   BETWEEN  THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING. 

with  others;  it  is  that,  in  a  plague-stricken 
world,  whether  you  are  destined  yet  for  high 
place  and  work,  or  even  for  a  sick-bed's 
feebleness  to  the  very  end,  you  may  make  it 
felt — the  lightest  syllable  as  well  as  the  most 
eminent  deed  in  God's  service  always  making- 
it  felt,  the  one  as  the  other;  that  you  have 
that  priestliness  upon  you,  w^hereby  you 
stand  betvv^een  the  dead  and  the  living,  and 
stay  the  plague.  Who  would  not  glory  in 
infirmities  for  such  a  sake !  that  the  power  of 
God  might  rest  upon  him  ;  that  he  might 
swing  his  heaven-kindled  censer,  however 
feebly,  yet  in  Christ's  steps,  and  after  Christ's 
own  manner ;  that,  in  face  of  an  incredulous 
world,  he  might  be  one  of  those  who  show  that 
this  profession  which  we  make  of  follow^ing 
Him  is  not  a  fiction,  but  that  there  is  a  reality, 
a  depth,  a  devotedness,  an  energy  of  life 
abroad  amongst  us,  which  is  felt  to  be 
unearthly— which  in  no  way  is  found  explain- 
able, but  that,  like  the  sublime  vehemence  of 
Aaron,  it  is  the  baptism  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
and  of  fire ! 


XXIY. 

Just  at  this  point  in  the  wilderness  story- 
there  is  a  silent  step  over  a  space  of  no  less 
than  thirty-seven  years.  Of  these  years  we 
have  no  record  save  the  shadowy  outline  in 
the  catalogue  of  wilderness  stations  preserved 
in  Numbers,  and  of  which  about  fifteen  seem 
assignable  to  this  long  narrativeless  gap. 
Probably  the  Israelites  went  scattered,  not  in 
a  mass,  but  in  groups,  as  they  could  find  pas- 
ture and  other  settlement  about  the  desert ; 
and  thus  broken  may  have  had  binding  them 
a  desultory  kind  of  intercourse  only  till  the 
limit  fixed  by  God's  judgment  had  expired, 
and  the  march-trumpet  again  summoned  to 
the  great  meeting-ground  at  Kadesh. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  striking  surely  to 
reflect  on  that  silent  interval  of  years.  We 
know  what  changes  thirty-seven  years'  lapse 


328  THIRTY-SEVEN   YEARS*    SILENCE. 

would  bring  about  in  our  modern  day  ;  and 
althou2:h  in  oriental  life  time  marks  its  chan- 
nel  far  less  vehemently,  yet  there,  too,  the 
long  space  of  Israel's  dispersion  could  not  be 
without  its  tokens  of  a  deep  human  interest. 
Egypt  was  a  far  way  in  the  past — even  the 
scenes  of  the  Red  Sea  and  Sinai  had  receded. 
Who  could  say  his  manhood  had  been  spent 
in  the  brick-making  of  Goshen  ?  Fewer  and 
fewer  every  day.  Gradually  chief  after  chief 
fell,  tribe  after  tribe  was  thinned,  till  among 
those  who  now  composed  the  thousands  of 
Israel,  and  who  had  all  been  striplings  under 
twenty  years  of  age  at  the  escape  from  Egypt, 
Moses  only  and  a  few  more  saw  themselves, 
white-haired  veterans,  standing  out  in  the 
throng,  like  a  clump  of  giant  trees,  hoary 
landmarks  of  an  old  forest,  rising  amidst  the 
thick  umbrage  and  the  lithe  stems  of  a 
younger  growth.  Yet  the  manifest  end  of 
God's  judgment  was  in  the  space  we  speak  of 
undoubtedly  wrought  out ;  and  that  is  what 
we  take  to  be  really  the  story  of  the  time. 
Partly  that  end  was — to  weed  away  all  the 


THIRTY-SEVEN    YEARS'    SILENCE.  329 

lives  that  had  been  born  and  bred  in  the  air 
of  Egyptian  grossness,  which,  so  far  as  con- 
cerned the  grown  manhood  of  Israel,  was 
done — although,  like  a  tenacious  poison-root, 
there  remained  always  some  ineradicable  fibre 
of  Egyptian  idolatry,  and  of  the  strange  spell 
of  Egyptian  life,  in  Israel's  heart ; — and  partly 
God's  end  had  been,  by  the  slow  stretch  of 
desert  existence,  to  teach  the  new  generation 
hardy  desert  habits — to  put  that  courage  in 
them  the  slave  spirit  of  their  fathers  had 
always  shrank  from  rising  to — to  prepare 
them  by  a  long  and  total  homelessness  among 
the  wastes  for  a  real  ardent  zest  in  being  led 
once  more  towards  the  good  land — and  so  to 
pave  their  last  year's  pathway  as  one  of  con- 
tinuousness  and  victory.  Hence  God's  long 
and  silent  patience,  even  while  His  people 
seemed  to  drop  in  the  wilderness  as  the  au- 
tumn leaves  drop — sadly,  and  one  by  one  ;  it 
was  a  blank  silence  in  the  eyes  of  men,  but  a 
record  every  moment  of  breathing  interest 
before  Him  in  heaven. 

So,  for  wise  results,  God  has  often  favored 


330  THIRTY-SEVEN    YEARS     SILENCE. 

such  silent  spaces  as  these  thirty-seven  years. 
If  we  may  touch  on  the  instance  reverently, 
our  Lord  Himself  in  His  earthly  history  was 
an  eminent  illustration.  Not  for  a  moment 
that  there  was  needed  any  interval  whatever 
to  mould  or  change  that  life  that  was  perfect 
in  Him  as  a  crystal  sun-ray  from  the  begin- 
ning: ;  but  it  is  matter  of  record  that  its  first 
thirty  years  were  those  of  nearly  absolute 
silence — that  the  comparison  between  these 
thirty  years'  silence  and  the  three  years'  brief 
condensed  action  which  succeeded  is  most 
startling  when  we  think  of  it.  And  we  dare 
not,  therefore,  say  how  far  that  long  voiceless 
preface — perhaps  in  a  degree  the  favorite  por- 
tion in  the  eye  of  God  and  the  holy  angels — 
how  far  it  may  not  have  been,  even  with  the 
all-holy  Jesus,  needed — how  much  feeling 
round  was  necessary,  as  if  half-shrinkingly, 
ere  the  divine  growth  struck  its  roots  into 
our  cold  earthly  soil — ere  it  sent  out  its  deli- 
cate shoots,  sensitive  to  each  breath,  yet  adapt- 
ing themselves  gradually  to  live  and  expand 
in    our   cold    earthly   clime — ere    at    last   it 


THIRTY-SEVEN   YEARS'    SILENCE.  331 

emerged  wholly  from  the  sheath  of  silence, 
and  was  seen  the  one  peerless  flower  of  all 
human  life — "the  chiefest  among  ten  thou- 
sand, and  altogether  lovely."  "  Yet  learned 
He  obedience  by  the  things  which  He  suf- 
fered," it  is  said  of  Christ.  Was  that  won- 
drous tuition  not  done  as  much  in  the  mute 
thirty  years  of  Nazareth  as  in  the  three  years 
after,  which  had  their  cruel  ending  on  the 
Cross  ?  Were  the  three  years  not  but  the 
open  supplement  to  the  sealed  volume  of  the 
thirty  years  before,  wherein,  in  the  awful 
secrecy  of  Himself  and  His  beloved  Son,  God 
had  traced  line  by  line  those  fairest  graces,  in 
whose  revealing  to  the  world  He  was  after- 
wards "  well  pleased  ?" 

Moses,  too,  in  his  own  history,  had  been  a 
marked  example  of  successive  stages  when  the 
life  was  silent ;  first,  in  the  forty  years  of  Pha- 
raoh's palace  ;  and  still  more  in  the  forty  years 
when  he  was  the  shepherd  of  Jethro's  flocks 
in  the  solitudes  of  the  Horeb  desert ;  when  it 
seemed  as  though  his  manhood  were  running 
all  to  waste,  and  the  purposeless  life  should 


332  THIRTY-SEVEN   YEARS'    SILENCE. 

have  a  memory  and  a  grave  without  a  name. 
But  how  the  reined-in  muteness  of  these  years, 
and  years  so  melancholy  in  their  passage,  sent 
out  in  the  end  a  noble  outgrowth  of  service, 
and  of  rapid  crowded  action  in  the  cause  of 
God,  these  stages  of  the  desert  journey  we 
have  been  tracking  tell. 

So  the  curb  of  silence  has  been  laid  repeat- 
edly upon  the  Church.  Often,  too,  for  whole 
generations — till  the  life  of  God's  kingdom 
has  appeared  as  if  it  had  ebbed  into  utter  dor- 
mancy for  ever.  But  it  has  not  been  that 
God  has  either  abandoned  or  neglected  His 
own  :  on  the  contrary,  the  intervals  of  a  hu- 
man inaction  have  been  those  in  which  He  has 
been  busiest  winnowing  His  Church  behind 
the  veil — fusing  some  chosen  hearts  here  and 
there  in  his  heavenly  moulds — and  so  anoint- 
ing, and  preparing,  and  intensifying,  His  king- 
dom anew  in  the  earth,  that,  when  the  signal 
has  been  given,  the  vast  garments  of  torpidity 
and  decay  have  been  flung  off,  and  the  revived 
Church  has  come  forth  "fair  as  the  moon,  clear  as 
the  sun,  and  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners." 


THIRTY-SEVEN    YEARS'    SILENCE.  333 

With  our  own  lives  also  the  retreat  of 
silence  is  not  unfrequently  the  rule  of  God's 
working.  Who  shall  say  that  the  silence  is 
not  better  than  the  stage  of  fevered  action? 
We  may  pine  under  its  tedium,  and  especially 
so  if  it  be  far  protracted,  and  we  get  to  drink 
withal  the  cup  of  privation  and  of  pain.  But 
I  cannot  help  thinking  every  heart  intently 
studious  of  the  leadings  of  God's  hand  must 
feel  soon  or  late,  that  to  be  thrown  back  off 
the  lighted  stage  of  action  into  the  eclipse  of 
silence  is  to  be  thrown  back  into  the  more 
secret  laboratories  of  grace,  where  God  the 
Spirit  sheds  His  noiseless,  but  rarer  imprints ; 
weeds  away  one  by  one  the  nerves  of  sin  and 
death  ;  binds  one  by  one  the  gleaming  threads 
of  holiness  and  life  ;  prepares,  subdues, 
chastens,  makes  way  through  the  whole  soul 
in  persistent  action,  till  the  last  dark  spot  is 
gone,  and  the  soul  is  one  shrine  of  light. 
And  that  this  process  often  should  be  long  we 
wonder  not,  for,  as  in  providence,  so  in  such 
exercise  of  grace  as  this, 

"  The  mill  of  God  grinds  slowly, 
But  it  grinds  exceeding  small" 


334  THIRTY-SEVEN    YEARS'    SILENCE. 

So  you  catch  a  glimpse,  surely,  of  what  makes 
the  shadow  of  your  silent  time,  although  a 
mere  blankness  in  the  sight  of  men,  a  hidden 
brightness  in  the  sight  of  God  ;  a  mere  blind 
monotony  the  world  passes  or  shakes  its  head  in 
pity  at  without,  but  a  drama  of  intensest  inter- 
est within,  off  which  the  Refiner's  eye,  or  hand, 
is  lifted  not  day  nor  night.  It  is  something  I 
would  compare  only  to  the  building  of  Solo- 
mon's temple,  which,  we  are  told,  rose  with- 
out sound  of  axe  or  hammer  heard ;  as  we 
may  conceive  it,  the  tracery  of  dark  and 
muffled  scaffolding  hiding  it  round,  and  mak- 
ing it  even  hideous  to  the  outside  beholders ; 
dumb,  too,  the  workmanship  that  went  on 
within ;  till  the  silent  task  was  done ;  and 
then  the  blind  scaffold  garniture  was  stripped 
away,  and  the  fair  creation  in  its  dazzling 
glories  was  revealed.  So,  if  you  are  reserved 
yet  for  an  active  part  in  God's  cause  in  the 
world,  here  is  the  meaning  of  your  silent 
prison-house  now.  The  world  hears  not,  sees 
not,  what  is  going  on ;  but  in  the  day  of 
God's  will  He  will  snatch  the  veil  off  and 


THIRTY-SEVEN    YEARS*    SILENCE.  335 

reveal  what  has  been  His  hidden  working  in 
your  heart — new  faith,  daringness,  elevation, 
humility,  earnestness,  purity  as  of  a  child, 
love  as  of  heaven.  Or,  if  you  are  doomed 
not  in  this  earth  to  have  the  bands  of  silence 
loosed ;  if,  as  you  may  be  lingering  in  trial 
and  patience  now,  you  are  doomed  to  go  on 
lingering  and  shrouded  to  the  end ;  oh,  be 
not  discouraged,  as  though  God  had  forgotten 
to  be  gracious;  hold  thyself  still  in  Him; 
He  is  purifying  every  pulse-stream ;  He  is 
toning  every  pulse-beat  in  the  dejected  soul ; 
He  is  preparing  thee  for  the  good  land  ;  and 
marvellous,  even  to  thyself,  when  His  sum- 
mons comes  at  last  to  go  over  thither,  will  be 
the  snatching  off  of  the  scaffolding  of  pain 
and  silence,  and  the  weariness  of  days  and 
years,  when  thou  wilt  stand  a  living  temple 
of  His  grace  and  glory  in  the  heavens,  when 
thou  wilt  prove  His  unbaffled  work  to  all,  and 
wilt  exclaim,  as  did  the  psalmist,  ''  though  I 
have  lien  among  the  pots,  yet  am  I  as  the 
wings  of  a  dove  covered  with  silver,  and  her 
feathers  with  yellow  gold!" 


XXV. 

The  muster  was  at  last  called,  and  Kadesh 
again  teemed  with  the  thronging  tribes  of 
Israel.  They  were  undoubtedly  now  to  set 
forward  in  the  great  enterprise  God  had  set 
them  ;  and  as  phalanx  after  phalanx  emerged 
from  the  boundless  desert,  and  arranged  them- 
selves, dark  and  many,  round  the  sanctuary 
cloud,  one  would  have  expected  high  hopes 
kindled,  and  a  strong  buoyancy  in  each  eye 
and  step.  Moses  and  Aaron  probably,  from 
their  lofty  place,  scanned  the  valley  far  and 
near,  with  some  such  keen  expectant  glance. 
If  so,  bitter  was  the  first  recoil.  The  slave- 
brand  of  Egypt  that  had  marked  the  flesh 
and  blood  of  Israel  had  gone  too  surely  into 
the  very  heart  and  life  of  the  people  as  well; 
and  even  this  new  generation  that  had  left 
the  thousands  of  the  old  there  behind  them 


TPIE    UNADVISED    LIPS.  337 

in  the  silent  wrappage  of  their  wilderness 
graves — even  this  new  generation  betrayed 
the  old  tale  and  the  old  murmur :  Why  were 
they  brought  out  of  Egypt  to  die  there  as 
their  fathers  had  already  done  ?  The  occasion 
was  the  want  of  water ;  and  no  doubt  it  was 
a  sharp  transition  to  most  from  the  green, 
well-watered,  fruit-yielding  oases  they  and 
their  cattle  had  likely  with  reluctance  aban- 
doned, to  the  rock-bound  fastness,  and  the 
grim  cliffs  round  Kadesh,  and  the  shadeless 
blaze  poured  on  them  from  the  sun  overhead. 
But  the  popular  outbreak  was  nevertheless 
like  the  waste  and  baffling  of  whole  thirty- 
seven  years'  lesson  ;  it  was  a  dashing  of  the 
single  cherished  hope  Moses  had  reposed  on 
in  his  heart;  and  in  his  grief  and  anger — 
anger  mounting  higher  than  the  grief — he 
was  betrayed  into  the  one  celebrated  sin, 
which  broke  the  charm  of  his  hitherto  fault- 
less way,  broke  the  wand  of  his  leadership  in 
Israel,  and  doomed  even  him  to  die  before 
the  entrance  into  the  good  land.  He  sought, 
indeed,  as  was  his  wont,  to  obey  God  ;    he 

15 


338  THE    UNADVISED    LIPS.  » 

inquired  on  the  tabernacle  ground  how  the 
people's  outcry  was  to  be  met;  and  when 
told  to  take  his  rod  as  formerly,  and  with 
Aaron  to  assemble  the  congregation,  and, 
before  their  eyes,  to  address  the  dead  rock, 
and  water  would  leap  forth,  he  had  prepared 
to  do  this  solemn  part ;  the  host's  countless 
eyes,  gleaming  out  thirst  and  eagerness,  were 
on  him,  and  in  front  of  the  chosen  rock— one 
probably  conspicuous  in  the  chasm-like  valley 
— ^he  had  planted  himself  and  upraised  his 
arm  ;  but  then  it  was  the  human  passion  min- 
gled with  the  divine  deed,  and  swelled  to  over- 
flow— the  lips  that  never  hitherto  had  spoken 
but  fittingly  gave  way  to  the  unadvised  burst, 
^'Hear  now,  ye  rebels;  must  we  fetch  you 
water  out  of  this  rock  ?"  At  the  two  strokes 
which  followed,  it  is  true,  the  gush  came  ;  the 
valley  ran  for  the  thirsty  multitude  like  a 
flooded  river;  but,  although  unnoted  per- 
haps, or  noted  by  few,  how  fallen  from  his 
high  estate  stood  Moses  there  within  the 
shadow,  passion  fading  in  him,  shame  and 
sadness  settling  on  him,  as  of  a  long,  long  life 


THE    UNADVISED    LIPS.  339 

of  upheld  consecration  broken  in  a  moment's 
whirl — and  God  speaking  with  his  conscience, 
and  declaring  to  him  that,  for  this  failure  to 
set  forth  His  honor  in  the  people's  eyes,  he 
should  have  his  part  in  the  conquest  of  the 
good  land  reft  away.  Aaron  had  been  part- 
ner in  the  sin,  and  a  like  doom  of  death  in 
the  wilderness  should  fall  on  him. 

How  sorrowful  the  change  on  the  aspect  of 
the  great  mediator  of  Israel!  If  ever  man 
had  been  chastened  to  the  purest  life  in  the 
path  of  God,  he  had  been.  He  had  been  faith- 
ful in  all  God's  house.  He  had  on  frequent 
occasions  stood  on  almost  terms  of  sublime 
level  with  God  ;  and  the  wisdom,  and  the 
love,  and  the  pure-hearted  pleadings  he  had 
uttered,  had  been  justified  of  heaven.  We 
should  have  thought,  therefore,  that,  about 
and  within  the  fabric  of  so  tried,  watchful, 
sanctified  a  life,  the  last  faintest  ofispring  of 
sin-born  passion  would  have  been  destroyed ; 
but  here  was  a  moment,  alas !  when  even  this 
saint  of  God  was  off  his  guard,  and  an  un- 
crushed  serpent-fang  discovered  itself  living 


340  THE    UNADVISED    LIPS. 

yet,  shot  out  from  underneatli  the  life  where 
it  had  been  coiled,  and  struck "  all  its  excel- 
lence suddenly  to  the  heart.  Instead  of  the 
portrait  glowing  hitherto  with  a]l  its  colors 
rich  from  heaven,  we  have  now  the  pallidness 
of  one  from  whom  the  virtue  has  gone  out — 
the  radiance  has  been  lost.  We  look  at  the 
contrast — the  enlarged  minister  of  God  one 
moment,  the  drooping,  shame-stricken  peni- 
tent the  next — and  we  feel  that  the  purest, 
truest,  strongest,  most  advanced  in  God's 
grace  should  still  walk  softly.  Even  near  the 
end,  at  the  very  gate  of  heaven,  never  relax 
in  the  doing  of  these  words  of  Christ — 
"Watch  and  pray,  lest  ye  enter  into  tempta- 
tion!" 

Yet,  it  may  be  asked.  Why  so  heavy  a 
penalty  inflicted  for  the  fault  of  a  mere  mo- 
ment, and  especially  in  such  a  case  as  that  of 
one  who  had  served  God  so  rarely  and  un- 
swervingly till  then  ?  We  are  disposed  by  our 
common  standard,  generally,  to  judge  that 
one  eminent  virtue  in  a  man  is  a  set-off  against 
many  defects ;  that  where,  for  instance,  there 


THE    UNADVISED    LIPS.  341 

has  been  great  heroism,  or  generous  kind- 
ness, these  throw  even  bad  failings  in  the 
same  character  into  shade ;  nay,  that  such 
things  as  genius,  public  service,  intellectual 
renown  even,  elevate  a  man  into  such  a 
blaze  that  his  vices  behind  the  brilliance  are 
lost.  And  much  more  in  the  case  of  a  lus- 
trous Christian,  who  in  all  things  has  been 
adorning  the  doctrine  of  God  his  Saviour,  we 
leap  to  the  conclusion,  that  the  blemish  of  a 
passing  infirmity  against  that  shining  back- 
ground is  nothing ;  the  light  of  so  much  good- 
ness otherwise  condones  it  and  blots  it  out. 
But  God's  ways  are  far  other  than  our  ways 
— His  thoughts  than  our  thoughts.  He  in  His 
searchingness  draws  out  the  verj^  opposite 
conclusion.  For  His  rule  is,  the  higher  you 
ascend  in  attainment  and  in  place  within  His 
kingdom,  the  higher  the  holiness  exacted,  the 
more  faithful  the  steps,  and  consequently,  if 
there  be  one  moment's  fall  even,  the  more  un- 
pardonable the  sin  !  A  common  potter's  ves- 
sel might  be  injured  without  loss,  but  the 
slightest  crack  in  the  richly-chased  vase  that 


342  THE   UNADVISED    LIPS. 

is  to  be  a  vessel  in  the  Lord's  house  must  be 
felt  to  be  a  loss  irreparable.  A  stone  of  the 
valley  may  be  seamed  and  broken,  but  the 
jewel  that  is  being  wrought  for  the  setting  of 
God's  crown  must  not  have  in  it  the  faintest 
flaw.  So  judgment  begins  at  the  house  of 
God.  It  is  there  the  rigorous  and  awfal  in- 
quisition is  the  most  unrelenting,  just  because 
"unto  whomsoever  much  is  given,"  not  to 
him  shall  any  compensating  latitude  be 
granted,  but  "  of  him  shall  be  much  required ;" 
he  who  walks  high  in  influence  and  grace 
must  walk  the  more  spotlessly  in  white ;  he 
to  whom  many  eyes  are  turned,  on  whose 
words  they  wait,  by  whose  example  many 
souls  (so  helpless  are  they)  are  almost  literally 
to  live  or  die — he  must  hold  himself  the  more 
utterly  from  off  the  earth,  and  gather  to  him- 
self increasingly  the  saintliness  of  heaven.  For 
God's  work  he  must  be  holy  as  God  is  holy, 
pure  as  He  is  pure.  Does  it  not  startle  us  to 
think  of  this  judgment  not  of  men  but  of  God? 
Do  we  not  approve  it  in  our  hearts?  And 
considering  the  grace  that  has  been  heaped 


THE    UNADVISED    LIPS.  343 

on  grace  to  us,  the  high  stand  to  which  many- 
have  been  lifed  in  the  signal  love  of  God,  do 
we  not  feel,  Christian  minister.  Christian  pa- 
rent. Christian  laborer.  Christian  pilgrim,  that 
the  momentous  charge  we  have  obtained  is 
ours — that  it  and  we  can  no  more  be  rent 
asunder — that  the  rising  of  our  steps  hitherto 
implies  a  higher  rising  yet — that  room  for 
even  infirmity,  far  less  sin  or  earthliness  or 
folly,  must  be  found  less  and  less  with  us — 
that  we  must  daily,  hourly,  embrace  our  gift 
from  God  with  such  a  trembling  memory  of 
Moses'  sin,  as  that  we  shall  count  one  fleck 
of  evil,  so  much  as  one  hasty  word,  or  light 
deed,  or  moment's  anger  on  the  brow,  what 
would  undo  all  and  destroy  it  to  the  heart. 
Here  surely  is  our  perpetual  prayer,  "  Search 
me,  0  God,  and  know  my  heart ;  try  me,  and 
know  my  thoughts ;  and  see  if  there  be  any 
wicked  way  in  me,  and  lead  me  in  the  way 
everlasting !" 


XXYL 

Looking  from  the  watch-towers  round 
Kadesh,  there  was  one  broad  beaten  high- 
way penetrating  through  the  hills  of  Edom, 
by  which  Israel  saw  an  access  to  the  good 
land  straight  and  easy.  That  is,  after  their 
passage  that  way,  and  across  the  long  slopes 
of  Mount  Seir  beyond,  they  would  stand  on 
the  eastern  heights  lining  the  Jordan,  and 
with  the  fields  of  Canaan  map-like  at  their 
feet.  It  was  strongly  tempting,  therefore,  to 
conciliate  the  fierce  hunting  tribes  of  Edom, 
descendants  of  that  famous  kinsman  of  their 
own  race,  Esau  ;  and  accordingly  with  every 
soft  solicitation  the  Edomites  were  besought 
to  allow  them  to  pass  through,  and  simply  to 
pass  through,  the  gateway  of  their  hills.  But 
these  wild  rovers  of  the  desert  would  have 
none  of  the  proposal ;  and  the  Israelites,  not 

3U 


THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER.  345 

choosing  to  make  their  passage  one  of  battle 
and  slaughter,  turned  aside  by  the  way  of 
Hor,  that,  as  God  directed,  they  might  fetch 
a  circuit  round  Edom,  far  and  painful,  indeed, 
but  yet  better  so,  since  it  would  be  a  path 
bloodless  and  free. 

But  at  their  very  first  halting-place  on  Hor, 
one  of  those  two  great  figures  that  for  forty 
years  had  stood  in  the  van  of  Israel  fell  at 
last.  Change  and  death  had  smitten  the  face 
of  all  the  host ;  change  and  death  were  now 
to  strike  these  last  and  greatest  two  also. 
Moses,  indeed,  would  still  be  spared  a  few 
marches  further,  but  Aaron's  sand-glass  was 
here  spent,  and  on  Mount  Hor  he  was  destined 
to  die.  It  was  in  a  manner  simple,  yet  beyond 
words  sublime.  By  the  Lord's  bidding,  only 
the  brothers,  with  Eleazar,  Aaron's  eldest  son, 
were  to  climb  the  upper  pinnacle  of  the 
mountain ;  the  people  were  to  stand  over 
against,  upon  a  lower  ridge,  from  the  sort  of 
table-land  of  which  the  high  rocky  crest 
above,  appointed  to  be  Aaron's  deathbed,  has 
its  rise.     We  can  almost  set  the  scene  before 


346  THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER. 

US  in  the  glorious  ruddiness  of  morning,  as 
the  tribes,  in  their  awe  and  sadness,  hastened 
up  out  of  all  the  valleys,  till  the  broad  height 
they  were  to  occupy  was  black  with  the  con- 
course, and  every  breath  was  held,  and  every 
eye  was  fastened  on  the  sacred  three,  as,  pass- 
ing line  after  line,  they  emerged  beyond  the 
crowd,  and,  parting  from  its  hum  and  its  living 
touch,  began  to  scale  the  rocky  way.  Their 
figures  were  seen  in  and  out  among  the  cliffs 
as  they  went ;  now  pausing,  as  if  to  take 
another  farewell  look  of  the  watching  multi- 
tude ;  again  resting,  as  if  the  aged  brothers 
were  recounting  to  one  another  the  long  bur- 
den they  had  borne  together — one  to  bear  it 
yet  a  little  while,  the  other  to  bear  it  now  no 
more  for  ever ;  and  finally  rising  clear  upon 
the  hill-top,  their  forms  set  against  the  sky, 
and  with  all  the  desert  realm  cast  beneath 
their  feet.  It  must,  in  truth,  have  been  to 
Aaron  a  striking  yet  a  dreary  moment,  when 
he  thus  stood  on  his  own  couch  of  death,  and, 
for  the  last  time,  let  his  eye  rest  on  the  world 
around   him.     Far    behind,    and   southward, 


THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER.  347 

were  the  desert  hills  and  valleys  they  had 
traversed  for  so  many  years,  half  hazy,  half 
dazzling,  in  their  whiteness ;  northward  w^ere 
the  dim  barriers  of  Canaan  Israel  had  once 
faced  but  recoiled  from ;  eastward  were  the 
dark  clusters  of  Edom,  with  their  dark  red 
seams  cutting  them  in  manifold  places,  and 
one  of  them,  the  famous  cleft  of  Kadesh, 
buried  utterly  unseen  in  their  breast ;  while 
beyond  these  still  lay  the  regions  of  Seir, 
fading  away  into  the  horizon's  mist.  There 
was  no  break  for  Aaron,  even  of  a  lattice- 
width,  through  which  he  might  see  one  soli- 
tary shoot  of  sunshine  resting  anywhere  upon 
the  good  land.  This  was  his  Pisgah  view ; 
but  how  different  far  from  that  of  Moses  that 
was  to  be — like  what  had  been  the  difference 
in  their  lives  in  nearness  and  constancy  to 
God.  The  dying  gaze  of  Moses  was  to  be 
filled  with  the  land,  lighted  and  glorious  to 
its  utmost  stretch :  the  dying  gaze  of  Aaron 
w^as  filled  with  a  picture  of  desert  dreariness, 
and  the  land  in  its  far-off  veil  was  shut  away 
as  much  as  had  it  been  the  veil  of  night. 


348  THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER. 

Touching,  too,  it  was  when,  from  the  pros- 
pect, the  aged  high  priest  turned  that  his 
brother  might  strip  him  of  the  trappings  of  his 
state.  The  action  must  have  been  distinctly 
seen  by  the  ten  thousand  eyes  below;  the 
flash  of  the  tall  mitre  as  it  first  was  taken  off 
and  the  white  hairs  were  allowed  to  stream 
abroad  ;  then  the  broad  glitter  of  the  Urim 
and  Thummim  as  they  were  lifted  from  his 
breast ;  then  the  disrobing  of  his  jewelled 
dress,  and  the  removing  of  his  priestly  staff. 
True,  these  were  transferred  on  the  very  spot 
to  his  own  son,  Eleazar;  neither  his  name, 
therefore,  nor  his  office  nor  his  work  would 
perish.  Moreover,  he  had  other  consolation 
at  the  moment,  in  that  his  two  nearest  kins- 
men stood  beside  him,  if  they  might,  to  help 
him  die — that  is,  to  go  with  him  to  the  dark 
verge :  Moses,  his  brother,  he  had  always 
in  his  heart  loved  and  leaned  on,  and  Eleazar, 
his  son,  now  to  be  the  heir  of  all  his  honor. 
And  he  Avas  about  to  die  also  literally  in  sight 
of  all  the  people- — the  thousands  of  Israel  below 
on  that  vast  platform  having  but  one  thought 


THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER.  349 

and  uttering  but  one  prayer,  and  weeping 
with  one  grief,  because  their  great  high  priest 
there  on  the  mountain  summit  was  about  to 
breathe  his  hist.  There  was  something  in  so 
grand  a  spectacle  round  his  bier  the  easily- 
impelled  nature  of  Aaron  could  not  but  con- 
fess. To  die  on  the  altar,  as  it  were,  of  a 
whole  nation's  heart,  was  what  might,  with 
any  man,  bring  a  flush  into  the  cheek  of 
death. 

Nevertheless,  spite  of  these  undoubted 
consolations,  it  was  sadly  touching  when  the 
moment  came.  He  was  high  priest  of  Israel 
no  more.  He  was  nought  now  but  a  bent, 
disrobed,  discrowned,  old  man.  The  gar- 
ments he  had  just  parted  with  faded  before 
his  dim  eyes,  as  though  they  had  lost  their 
beauty.  So  did  the  hues  of  life,  the  taber- 
nacle service,  all  the  steps  of  influence  and 
honor  he  had  trodden — everything  earthly 
scenes  had  been  to  him  must  now  have  waned 
into  a  dull  and  featureless  shadow.  Even  the 
living  faces  of  Israel  turned  upward  to  the 
cliff,  I  can  conceive,  must  have  flitted  away 


350  THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER. 

from  him  like  a  sea  of  spectral  nothings. 
Even  the  hands  of  Moses  and  Eleazar,  as  they 
laid  him  on  his  couch,  must,  I  can  conceive, 
have  glided  from  him  afar  off.  And  as  he 
was  stretched  on  his  great  mountain  bed  of 
state,  his  back  upon  the  cold  rock,  his  white 
face  turned  up  to  the  blue  of  heaven,  proba- 
bly Aaron  entered  as  deep  as  any  man  into 
the  pure  solitariness  of  death  ;  all  the  arrayed 
fellowships  of  earth  did  really  help  him  not ; 
and,  within  the  shadow  of  his  own  soul,  there 
crossed  him  the  inextinguishable  pang,  and 
the  aged  heart  lay  still ! 

I  mean  not  for  a  moment  that  Aaron  was 
without  hope  in  his  death  :  on  the  contrary, 
he  had  not  only  grown  hoar-headed  in  the 
service  of  his  God,  and,  with  all  his  failings, 
had  set  forth  a  life  to  be  reverently  cherished 
in  the  memory  of  Israel,  but  now,  in  his  last 
hour  on  Hor,  God  himself  was  around  the 
steep,  and,  no  doubt,  out  of  the  death-shock 
He  would  make  His  servant  rise  a  priest  in 
the  true  blood  of  atonement  on  the  floor  of 
heaven  for  ever.     But  I  think  there  had  been 


THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER.  351 

tliat  degree  of  failure  in  the  life  of  Aaron 
which  made  the  minutes  of  his  parting  exceed- 
ing sad :  no  bright  view  of  promise  given  him 
without — none,  we  should   suppose,  within: 
only  the  curtain  drawn  down,  and  the  mys- 
tery of  death  very  dark.     Is  it  not  the  case 
that  such  an  end  arrives  to  many  who  yet 
have  been  true  and  even  noted  servants  of 
God  ?     Yet,  when  it  is  told  them  the  time  of 
God's  will  is  near  and  they  must  die,  with  what 
cold  sharpness  the  message  comes  home !  How 
it  takes  the  light  and  color  in  a  moment  out 
of  all    earthly  existence— the    interests   that 
stimulated  but  the  day  before— the  current  in 
whose  strength  we  ran — the  work  in  whose 
freshness  we  were  up  and  doing— death  pales 
them  all,  and,  like  ghosts,  they  wane  from  us 
and  vanish.     Not  that,  in  one  sense,  we  fear 
to  die.     We  know  the  certainties  the  gospel 
teaches  ;  we  hold  by  Him  who  hath  destroyed 
death,  and  him  that  had  the  power  of  it ;  and, 
when  the  strife  is  over,  we  have  the  light  and 
the  deliverance  beyond.      But  it  is  the   un- 
reckoned,  inextinguishable  pang  there  is  be- 


352  THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER. 

tween — it  is  that  hour  of  sinking  when  the 
holds  we  have  sustaining  us  here  drop  and 
can  cling  to  us  no  more — when,  although  the 
very  closest  and  dearest  we  love  on  earth 
stand  beside  us,  they  are  powerless — when, 
although  hundreds  of  hearts  we  may  have 
blessed  pray  for  us  and  weep  for  us,  they  avail 
us  not — when  we  sink  far  into  the  waste  soli- 
tude, and  the  face  of  love  fades,  and  the  voice 
of  love  dies — oh,  it  is  in  that  shrouded,  un- 
penetrated  hour — that  falling  alone  into  the 
void — that  agony  and  depth  of  death,  even 
were  it  but  a  moment — it  is  there  the  inex- 
tinguishable horror  lies  !  Are  there  not  many, 
I  ask,  true  servants  on  the  whole  of  the  living 
God,  and  having  on  the  whole  true  faith  in 
what  God's  gospel  word  has  taught  them,  who 
yet  cower  in  their  hearts  before  this  misery 
of  death !  I  think  it  cannot  be  denied.  And 
the  reason  simply  is,  that,  although  in  one  way 
leading  Christian  lives,  they  have  not  been 
lives  sustained  in  the  highest  and  most  con- 
stant closeness  of  companionship  with  God — 
rather  we  may  have  practised  very  slack  and 


THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER.  353 

very  occasional  intercourse  with  Him  and  with 
the  world  to  come.  We  may  never  have 
dreamt  of  dwelling  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour, 
in  the  near  blessedness  of  God,  His  loving 
Son,  His  Holy  Spirit.  It  may  have  been  a 
tedium  and  a  shrinking  to  us.  The  temper 
and  the  pursuits  of  our  life  may  not  have  been 
of  a  sort  to  bear  it.  And,  instead  of  having 
the  two  paths,  that  of  earth  and  that  of 
heaven,  running  so  closely  parallel  in  our 
hearts  as  that  any  moment  we  might  step 
from  one  into  the  other,  we  may  have  led  the 
earthly  into  such  far  and  many  windings,  that 
only  at  a  point  here  and  there,  and  only  for  a 
few  minutes,  it  has  touched  the  heavenly, 
when  it  has  glided  away  quick  into  the  thick- 
ets of  the  world  again.  Such  lives  as  these 
cannot  but  find  a  darksome  start  and  misery 
in  death.  In  the  very  nature  of  their  case, 
the  good  land  cannot  be  in  its  clear  light  be- 
fore them ;  they  must  die  rather,  as  we  have 
pictured  Aaron,  with  the  veil  heavy  upon  it, 
and  the  soul  very  solitary  in  its  death  ;  for 
how  can  God  be  flown  to  in  death  as  a  father 


354  THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER. 

would  be  flown  to  by  a  child,  since  that  was 
not  the  manner  of  the  life — how  can  Christ 
be  otherwise  than  strange  somewhat  in  death, 
since  He  was,  for  the  most  part,  strange  in 
life — how  can  the  Holy  Spirit  breathe  with 
power  in  death,  since  He  was  allowed  to 
breathe  only  with  such  feebleness  in  life  ? 

Oh,  my  reader,  it  is  by  our  own  neglect 
and  coldness  and  unfaithfulness  with  God  while 
we  live  that  we  provide  for  ourselves  that 
troubled  hour,  almost  of  desertion,  when  we 
die.  And  we  shall  never  strip  it  of  its  terror, 
either  then  or  now,  but  by  making  the  hour 
of  our  death  the  sort  of  criterion  of  our  life — 
living  as  near  God  now  as  we  shall  desire  to 
be  then — cultivating  as  real  touches  on  the 
heavenly  state  now  as  we  shall  count  it  the 
simplest  possible  thing  to  put  forth  then — 
drawing  the  presence  of  the  blessed  Jesus  as 
entirely  into  our  lot  now  as  we  shall  need  Him 
and  His  everlasting  arms  in  the  depth  then — 
running  our  every  day  and  hour  in  reference 
up  to  God's  judgment  now  as  the  whole  issue 
of  them  must  be  poured  out  then.     Such  is 


THE    MOUNTAIN    BIER.  356 

what  alone  we  can   count   making  security 
against   the  forlornness  of  death.     Nearness 
and  constancy  to  God  in  life — nearness  to  God 
in  death.     That  is  the  rule — and  that  must  be 
our  strength  at  last.     We  shall  then  die,  not 
as  Aaron,  but  as  Moses,  with  the  whole  land 
distinct  in  view — as  the  earthly  love  drops  us, 
the  heavenly,  without   one  instant's  rupture, 
solitariness,  or  dismay,  taking  us  up,  and  whis- 
pering us,  "0  death,  where  is  thy  sting?     0 
grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?"     We  shall  be 
like  one  sailing  in  his  solitary  bark  down  a 
stream — to  those  looking  at  us  from  the  hither 
side  of  earth  it  will  seem  as  though,  at  the 
death-point,  the  stream  narrows,  and  the  rocks 
draw  close  above  it,  and  the  flood  runs  into  a 
dark  shoot,  and  between  their  cleft  is  swal- 
lowed up  for  ever.      But  we,  who  are  in  the 
bark  of  God,  see  and  know  different  far.     The 
stream  does  narrow  and  blacken,  indeed,  in 
that  swift  rocky  passage-way  of  death  ;  but 
as  we  go  down  its  rapid  we  can  see  more  than 
does  the  spectator  on  the  bank.     We  can  see 
a  light  as  of  day  beyond ;  and  while  to  those 


356  THE   MOUNTAIN    BIER. 

we  leave  behind  we  vanish  in  the  chasm  as  if 
lost,  as  if  nothing  could  be  said  about  our 
death  but  that  we  have  passed  and  we  are 
not — the  heavenward  flow  to  us  is  never 
broken — we  are  out  beneath  the  gloomy 
archway,  and  on  that  thither  side  the  stream 
expands,  and  we  are  floating  on  its  fair 
and  bounteous  wave,  and  wc  step  ashore 
upon  its  banks,  and  we  find  we  are  in 
the  good  land — the  shining  valley  "  that 
flows  with  milk  and  honey."  Oh,  let  the 
prayer  of  our  daily  pilgrimage  be  what  will 
make  each  living  moment  fearless  and  more 
fearless  yet  of  death— what  will  make  the 
path  hourly  clearer — what  will  make  the 
death-hour  itself  at  last  instead  of  the  dark  of 
agony,  the  very  burst  of  peace — let  our  cease- 
less prayer  be — 


"  Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee — 
Nearer  to  Theel" 


So  we  leave  Aaron  to  his  rest.  Moses 
and  Eleazar  buried  him  where  he  died ; 
and  when  they  two  came  sorrowfully  down 


THE   MOUNTAIN    BIER.  357 

the  hill-path,  the  wail  of  the  Israelites  be- 
gan, and,  bethinking  them  how  the  sin  of 
Aaron  for  which  he  had  been  cut  off  had 
been  their  sin  first,  they  mourned  for  him 
thirty  days. 


XXVII. 

Courage  ought  to  have  shone  high  upon 
the  banners  and  faces  of  Israel,  as,  leaving 
Hor,  they  entered  on  the  clear  line  of  their 
resistless  march  ;  for  scarce  had  they  suffered 
in  some  of  their  outposts  an  ill-advised  assault 
from  one  of  the  Canaanite  kings,  than,  pray- 
ing God  to  be  their  help,  they  turned  aside 
and  destroyed  him  and  his  cities  at  a  blow. 
Then  the  great  multitudinous  movement 
swept  on.  But  it  was  a  slow  and  wide  cir- 
cuit, as  we  have  seen,  it  was  destined  to  take ; 
and  more  particularly,  by  doubling  back  upon 
their  old,  old  track  towards  the  Red  Sea,  the 
Israelites  were  for  the  time  involved  again  in 
the  great  desert  of  Arabah,  and  at  its  bound- 
lessness and  desolateness  and  fruitlessness 
their  soul  fainted  within  them.  When  was  it 
to  end  ?    Were  they  to  be  for  ever  tantalised, 

858 


THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT.  359 

haunting  these  broad  gloomy  valleys,  in  the 
coldest  nook  of  which  hardly  one  water-drop 
was  found  ?  Even  when  the  march  came  out 
at  one  of  the  great  valley  mouths  on  the 
beach  of  the  Akaba  sea,  and  the  sheen  waters 
spread  their  silver  sheet  out  afar,  and  the 
shell-strewn  sand  made  a  pavement  for  the 
feet,  marvellous  and  white  as  snow — even 
then  the  fainting  eyes  of  the  people  must 
have  been  too  weary  for  the  sight,  and  they 
poured  out  their  impatience  as  of  old  on 
Moses.  Neither  was  their  thirst  quenched, 
neither  was  their  hunger  met ;  and  "  their 
souls,"  as  they  cried,  ^'  loathed  this  light 
food,"  meaning  nothing  else  than  the  sacred 
manna — ^food  of  God  from  heaven ! 

There  was  a  miserable  monotony  in  this 
perpetual  complaint  of  the  Israelites  as  to 
food  and  water,  and  their  having  been  led  out 
of  Egypt  into  the  wilderness  to  die.  It 
recurs  again  and  again,  after  all  God's  visita- 
tions, whether  of  mercy  or  of  judgment — the 
same  burden  of  the  Israelite  tale,  without  one 
new  note  to  vary  it.     How  weary  God's  ear 


360  THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

must  have  been  through  forty  years  of  that 
monotonous  complaint !  In  the  present  in- 
stance, angry  as  well  as  weary,  He  sent  a 
plague  of  fiery  serpents  through  the  camp — 
creatures  fierce  and  flame-colored  in  their 
long  glittering  shapes,  as,  gliding  suddenly 
from  out  the  earth,  they  darted  hither  and 
thither  in  their  swarm,  filling  the  people  with 
intensest  horror,  and  striking  them  with  their 
fangs,  so  that,  and  even  while  they  fled,  many 
of  them  died.  An  instant  cry  to  Moses  for 
mercy  broke  from  every  tongue,  and  at  his 
prayer  once  more  to  God  deliverance  came. 
But  not  this  time  by  the  immediate  staying 
of  the  plague  and  the  sweeping  back  of  the 
serpent  brood  into  the  earth.  God  chose, 
while  He  delivered,  to  put  His  mercy  in  a 
way  that  should  extract  from  the  Israelite  life 
a  faith  not  hitherto  called  much  into  power, 
that  should  cast  the  choice  of  the  deliverance 
very  much  on  the  people  themselves,  that 
should  call  them  into  co-operation  with  His 
working,  that,  in  short,  should  really  prove 
their  hearts,  whether  there  they  would  trust 


THE    BRAZEN   SERPENT.  361 

Him  and  obey  Him  or  no.  Accordingly 
Moses  was  bidden  make  an  image  in  brass  of 
the  fiery  snake  that  was  the  plague  and  scatter- 
ing of  the  camp ;  and  this  image,  transfixed 
upon  a  pole — the  deadly  creature,  so  to  speak, 
thrust  through  and  crucified — to  upraise  in 
sight  of  all  the  people.  Whosoever,  then,  bit- 
ten of  the  serpents,  looked  straight  to  that 
God-appointed  device,  fixed  his  eyes  stead- 
fastly on  it,  and  in  that  gaze  sent  forth  his 
soul,  believing  there  for  him  in  emblem  were 
the  power  and  cure  of  God — that  instant  he 
ceased  to  die.  So  the  brazen  serpent  became 
the  centre  of  smitten  Israel ;  eager  eyes  were 
raised  to  it  from  every  quarter  ;  clasped 
hands  were  stretched  towards  it ;  the  dying 
dragged  themselves  nearer  that  they  might 
but  catch  the  faintest  glimpse ;  and  the  Avave 
and  light  of  restored  life  passed  throughout 
the  camp.  The  dead  who  had  died  in  their 
agony  were  indeed  lying  there  ghastly  on  the 
sands ;  but  it  was  a  mighty  deliverance,  in 
that  the  accursed  serpent-plague  was  gone. 

The  one  thing  that  marks  to  all  time  this 
16 


362  THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

marvel  in  the  camp  of  Israel  was,  the  utter 
simplicity  of  that  act  and  way  in  which  not 
only  God  on  His  side  pledged  a  cure,  but  on 
the  people's  side  the  cure  was  seized.  The 
sufierer  had  but  to  look  on  the  uplifted  sign 
and  he  straight  was  healed.  It  was  an  action 
simple  as  the  famished  man  opening  his 
mouth  for  bread— the  man  consumed  of  thirst 
lapping  at  the  stream  of  water — the  man 
sinking  in  some  malady  holding  out  his  hands 
to  the  physician.  Would  not  all  of  these  act 
in  such  wise  from  simple  instinct  ?  would  one 
of  them  shrink  one  moment  from  the  thing 
his  soul  panted  for  ?  would  there  be  hesitancy 
or  mistrust?  would  there  not  rather  be  an 
intense  leaping  forward  towards  the  one  help 
.that  stood  between  him  and  death  ?  Even 
so  with  the  Israelites  struck  by  the  fiery  ser- 
pents ;  the  remedy  of  God  was  raised  before 
them,  blazoned  with  its  high  meaning,  lus- 
trous as  the  sun  that  shone  upon  it,  and,  as 
one  thrill  through  the  dying  throng,  every 
eye  sent  forth  its  gaze ;  none  would  have 
ventured,  save    through    the   strangest   mad- 


THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT.  363 

ness,  one  instant's  pause  in  that  dread  ques- 
tion ;  and  so,  through  the  simple  deed,  the 
dropping  victims  no  more  died  but  lived. 

Have  we  not  like  simplicity  in  God's  great 
remedy  with  us  ?  "As  Moses  lifted  up  the 
serpent  in  the  wilderness,"  said  Christ  Him- 
self, "  even  so  must  the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted 
up,  that  whosoever  believeth  on  Him  should 
not  perish,  but  have  eternal  life."  It  is  true, 
we  first  ask  how  any  likeness  can  be  found 
between  the  spotless  and  the  loving  Christ, 
and  the  loathsome  deadly  serpent?  Is  the 
figure  not  the  very  contrary  to  all  we  asso- 
ciate with  the  blessed  Lamb  of  God  ?  But  it 
is  explained  when  we  remember  that  we,  in 
the  first  place,  are  in  like  case  with  the  smit- 
ten Israelites ;  we  are  plague-struck  and 
destroyed  of  sin  ;  it  is  the  serpent-poison  and 
the  serpent-fang  creeping  in  our  path,  and 
wounding  our  whole  soul  to  death.  As,  then, 
in  the  emblem  of  the  brazen  serpent  on  its 
pole,  the  Israelites  beheld  that  very  thing  that 
had  been  their  curse  transfixed  and  slain,  and 
as  in  their  look  thither   they  believed   that 


364  THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

God  had  so  done,  and  that  the  death  was 
taken  off  them  and  destroyed  there  for  ever ; 
so,  m  Christ  lifted  up  and  slain  upon  the  tree, 
we  see  the  deadly  thing  that  has  tormented 
us  transfixed  and  crucified ;  there  is  no  sha- 
dow or  mere  figure  in  the  matter ;  it  is  the 
literal  word  of  Scripture  :  ''He  was  wounded 
for  our  transgressions,  He  was  bruised  for  our 
iniquities  ;"  and  again,  "  Who  Himself  bare 
our  sins  in  His  own  body  on  the  tree ;"  and 
again,  "For  He  hath  made  Him  to  be  sin  for 
us  Who  knew  no  sin,  that  we  might  be  made 
the  righteousness  of  God  in  Him ;"  I  say  it  is 
so  literally  stated,  this  great  truth  on  which 
our  atonement  and  salvation  hang,  that  while 
we  do  not  dream  of  so  much  as  one  shade  of 
the  poison  of  sin  darkening  by  its  lodge- 
ment the  pure  soul  of  Christ,  yet  unques- 
tionably, into  His  body,  on  His  very  heart, 
sin  was  taken  in  its  weight  and  curse  and 
death ;  so  that  in  His  nailing  to  the  cross  it 
was  crucified,  in  His  pouring  out  His  soul 
unto  death  it  was  destroyed;  and  we  now 
looking    thither    and    beholding    Him,    and 


THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT.  365 

believing  that  our  worst  enemy,  even  sin,  so 
has  perished — we  die  no  more,  but  live  with 
an  eternal  life !  Such  is  how  the  blessed 
Christ  compares  Himself  lifted  up  on  the  tree 
of  Calvary  to  the  brazen  serpent  lifted  up  by 
Moses  on  its  desert  staff 

And  has  it  not  so  become  a  thing  of  intensest 
simplicity  that,  for  our  peace,  we  gaze  on  the 
crucified  Christ  ?  What  can  be  simpler  than 
that  we  make  the  eye  an  avenue,  so  to  call  it, 
through  which  the  whole  soul  may  go  out  in 
steady  fixedness,  and  see  all  in  Him — sin  and 
death  abolished — ^life,  as  the  very  power  of 
God,  given  ?  Who  yet,  in  awakened  con- 
science and  broken  spirit^,  has  so  fastened  all 
hope  and  faith  on  the  uplifted  Christ  but  has 
felt  the  shadow  fly  from  off  the  face,  the  mal- 
ady from  off  the  heart  ?  For  when  I  look,  it 
it  is  my  sin  in  all  its  length  and  breadth  I  see 
pierced  in  His  woundings — it  is  my  lot,  in  all 
its  cruel  sufferings  and  pains,  I  see  winnowed 
of  its  bitterness  in  His  passion — it  is  my  death 
I  see  annihilated  for  evermore  in  His  !  But, 
alas,  it  is  in  the  very  simplicity  of  this  great 


366  THE   BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

ordinance  of  God  that  we  are  often  lost. 
Acute  speculation  will  not  have  it ;  the  inge- 
nious fears  of  all  sorts  we  conjure  up  in  our 
self-torture  hang  back  from  it;  all  our  pre- 
conceptions of  the  heights  that  must  be  level- 
led and  the  depths  that  must  be  filled  up  ere 
we  can  find  our  way  back  to  God  forbid  it ; 
in  a  thousand  ways  the  pathway  of  the  Cross 
becomes  foolishness  in  the  world.  And  men 
are  roaming  in  their  search  in  all  the  mines 
of  human  knowledge  and  human  wisdom 
throughout  the  earth,  while  the  one  pearl  of 
great  price  lies  here  at  home  at  their  very  feet. 
They  are  abroad  in  every  kind  of  quest,  while 
here  at  home  the  Lord  Jesus,  "  His  head  filled 
with  dew,  His  locks  with  the  drops  of  the 
night,"  is  knocking  at  the  door  of  their  hearts. 
They  are  flying  off"  at  every  diverse  way  lead- 
ing them  on  this  hand  and  that,  till  they  go 
stumbling  on  the  dark  mountains,  many  of 
them,  alas,  falling  to  rise  no  more,  while  here 
at  home  is  the  way  of  God  straight  by  the 
Cross  as  an  arrow-flight  to  heaven,  and  so 
plain  as  that  the  wayfaring  man,  though  a 


THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT,  367 

fool,  need  not  err  therein.     We  fear,  in  many- 
instances  at  least,  the  secret  is  that  the  ser- 
pent-plague of  sin  is  not  felt  with  its  fiery  rest- 
lessness in  the  heart.   Ah,  once  let  that  awake, 
and  a  thousand  phantoms  of  the  life,  the  rea- 
soning, the  mechanical  beliefs  or  no  beliefs  of 
former  days,  are  instantly  put  to  flight     We 
cannot  play  with  theories  when  we  have  be- 
fore us  then  the  naked  choice  of  life  or  death. 
We  then  dispel  the  tempter ;  we  then  have 
no  hope  in  all  the  waste  of  human  substitutes 
on  earth ;  we  turn,  as  the  poorest  pilgrim  of 
Israel  may  have  turned  his  languid  head  upon 
the  sands,  and  we  set  our  all,  like  him,  in  one 
gaze  upon  the  mighty  power  of  God — 

"  Nothing  in  our  hands  we  bring, 
Simplj  to  the  Cross  we  cling." 

And  the  look  once  set  there,  it  is  there  we 
find  our  pole-star  ever  after.  Each  day,  in  its 
new  griefs,  its  new  apprehensions,  its  new  in- 
firmities, and,  alas !  its  new  sins,  we  still  turn 
ourselves,  that  all  may  go  forth  and  be  cast 
on  Christ  slain  for  us — we  fasten  our  depend- 


368  THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

ence  to  its  utmost  shade  upon  Him,  and  we 
learn  with  still  increasing  meatning  to  reiterate 
the  daily  descant  as  we  go — 

"  Nothing  in  our  hands  we  bring, 
Simply  to  the  Cross  we  cling  1" 


XXYIIL 

By  a  pass  opening  through  the  Edomite 
hills  to  the  north-east  of  the  sea  of  Akaba,  the 
Israelites  gradually  worked  their  way  round 
the  borders  of  Edom,  and  so  out  into  the 
broad  rolling  downs  of  Seir.  Thence,  after  a 
march  of  stormy  conflict  and  bloodshed,  in 
the  course  of  which  they  swept  away  the 
Amorites,  they  came,  at  last,  locust-like,  or,  as 
they  were  described  by  the  alarmed  Balak, 
licking  up  all  round  about  them,  "  as  the  ox 
licketh  up  the  grass  of  the  field,"  and,  in  such 
array,  pitched  among  the  hills,  whose  crests 
overlooked  the  Jordan  and  the  fields  of  Ca- 
naan beyond. 

A  wide-spread  terror  ran  as  their  herald  in 
front,  and  hovered  in  their  track  behind ;  and 
none  did  this  terror  seize  more  profoundly 
than  Balak,  one  of  the  Moabite  kings,  past 

16*  869 


370  ISRAEL'S     KEEPER. 

whose  territory  the  dark  invasion  was  now 
wending  its  way.  He  feared  to  try  with  the 
invaders  the  issue  of  battle  ;  for  in  that  trial 
the  Amorites  had  already  fallen.  But  he  fell 
on  the  device  instead  of  bringing  power  not 
of  earth  to  grapple  with  these  hated  tramplers 
on  his  soil.  And  so  comes  in  upon  the  bor- 
ders of  our  wilderness  story  the  singular  epi- 
sode of  Balaam,  son  of  Peor.  He  was  one  of 
those  beyond  the  elect  circle  of  God's  grace 
and  revelation  in  the  olden  time,  (such  as 
were  Melchisedek  and  Job  and  Jethro,)  who, 
in  their  outside  heathen  twilight,  seem  myste- 
riously to  have  caught  upon  them  shoots  of 
divine  discovery — as  tokens  at  the  time  that, 
while  God  had  a  chosen  people.  He  had  yet 
not  left  the  whole  world  besides  in  utter  black- 
ness— and  as  preludes  also  that  a  time  should 
come  when  the  narrow  boundary  of  one 
selected  nation  would  be  broken  down.  Gen- 
tile as  well  as  Jew  would  share  in  the  cove- 
nant of  Heaven,  and  ''  all  nations  of  the  earth 
be  blessed."  This  Balaam  dwelt  in  an  East- 
ern land,  where  his  fame  ran  high  to  excess — 


ISRAELS     KEEPER.  371 

in  that  whomsoever  he  might  bless  he  was 
blessed,  whomsoever  he  might  curse  he  was 
cursed.  Undeniably  God's  power  rested  on 
him ;  he  was  covetous  and  false  at  heart,  and 
perished  among  the  enemies  of  God  at  last ; 
but  meantime,  as  a  gifted  seer,  he  was  visited 
by  illuminations  straight  from  God,  and  stood 
so  eminent  upon  the  edge  of  God's  kingdom 
that  his  whole  figure  was  revealed  in  light. 
To  him  accordingly  Balak  sent  in  his  distress 
messengers  of  high  rank — gold  and  silver  lav- 
ishly. Would  he  come  under  such  bribes 
and  inflict  a  curse  on  Israel  ?  We  need  not 
follow  all  the  steps  in  the  striking  yet  melan- 
choly story.  There  was  strong  possibility  at 
first  sight  that  what  Balak  wished  might  be 
done  ;  and  Israel,  all  unconscious  of  these  dark 
machinations  moving  to  and  fro  around  it, 
might  have  found  its  host  called  on  to  fight 
not  any  more  against  enemies  of  flesh  and 
blood  but  against  impalpable  adversaries  of 
curse  and  blight,  that  might  have  made  them 
shrink  as  in  the  breath  of  pestilence.  Such 
was  Balaam's  power,  I  say,  that  it  might  thus 


372  ISRAELS    KEEPER. 

have  stolen  in  upon  the  camp,  and  bought  the 
whole  desert-pilgrimage  to  nought. 

But  the  Lord  that  kept  Israel  had  set  too 
keen  a  watch  round  about.  He  was  at  the 
ear  of  Balaam  quick  as  the  tempter  with  his 
bribes.  He  followed  silently  each  word  and 
step.  He  checked  the  false  heart  of  Balaam, 
both  at  the  outset  and  by  the  way.  Not  one 
loophole  of  advantage  would  He,  in  short, 
allow  that  treacherous  tamperer  with  God's 
honor  and  his  own  soul — not  one  loophole 
whereby  he  might  wind  through  into  some 
compliance  with  the  demands  of  Balak.  So 
that,  when  the  latter  led  Balaam  first  up  to 
the  heights  of  Baal,  and  there  from  their  seven 
smoking  altars  they  looked  down  on  the  host 
of  Israel  darkening  the  plain  like  a  cloud  ;  and 
again  when  a  second  trial  was  made  from  an- 
other view-point,  whence  but  a  mere  section 
of  the  camp  was  seen  ;  and  yet  again  when  a 
third  time  Balak  led  his  guest  up  to  a  crown- 
iug  eminence,  and  once  more  bid  him  curse 
the  multitude  below-r— on  all  three  occasions 
Balaam  poured  out  a  blessing  instead,  waxing 


ISRAEL'S    KEEPER.  373 

higher  and  higher  in  splendid  and  emphatic 
speech.  He  would  have  done  the  opposite,  but 
his  tongue  was  constrained  of  God — it  was  bent 
to  speak  His  will.  And  so  triumphantly  did 
God  care  for  and  save  His  own,  that  not  only 
did  He  stand  a  shield  between  the  conjuring  of 
Balak  and  Balaam  and  His  people— not  only 
was  it  that  He  insured  they  should  escape  with- 
out scath— but  He  so  compelled  the  evil  that 
was  devised  against  them  into  good — He  so 
seized  the  stammering  tongue  and  the  traitor- 
ous heart  and  the  whole  dark  menace  hanging 
over  Israel— that  the  darkness  poured  out 
light,  and  the  mouth  of  cursing  poured  out 
blessing,  and  the  pilgrim-hosts  that  were  to 
have  been  destroyed  moved  forward,  scatter- 
ing their  enemies  in  confusion  more  than  ever! 
Even  so,  at  the  face  of  Israel's  Keeper,  Balak 
shrank  dismayed. 

It  may  be  said  the  same  far-seeing  sleep- 
less guardianship  of  God  is  witnessed  in 
His  ordinary  providence  all  round.  How 
many  destructive  forces,  for  example,  sleeping 
in  nature  round  us,  does  His   hand   repress, 


374  ISRAEL'S     KEEPER. 

any  one  of  which,  unloosed  an  hair-breadth, 
would  strike  us  into  nothing  !  And  not  only 
so,  but  how  these  relentless  forces,  by  the 
arrangement  and  the  care  of  God,  are  put  into 
our  hands  in  a  great  measure  to  be  our  boon 
— whereby,  through  processes  of  marvellous 
beauty,  (were  they  not  too  common  now  to 
affect  us,)  we  obtain  the  air  we  breathe,  and 
the  food  we  eat,  and  the  raiment  we  put  on. 
So,  by  the  restraining  and  compelling  hand  of 
God  most  merciful,  that  world  that  might  be 
either  our  prison  cell  or  our  grave  is  a  wide 
dwelling-place  of  loveliness  and  plenty.  Also, 
it  is  God's  watchfulness  that  surrounds  and 
prepares  triumph  for  all  the  good  causes  of 
our  common  humanity — such  as  the  seed  of 
civilisation,  the  path  of  commerce,  the  light 
of  discovery  in  science,  the  growth  of  free- 
dom, the  upspringing  of  any  truth  or  charity, 
or  nobler  life  of  which  men  have  need — from 
how  small  beginnings  God  has  led  all  such 
causes — how  many  barriers  of  land  and  sea 
and  the  stubborn  strength  of  hell  itself  has  He 
broken  down  for  them — and,  amidst  the  flue- 


ISRAEL'S    KEEPER.  375 


tuations  of  their  progress,  how  has  He  never 
allowed  any  cause  dear  to  human  well-being 
really  to  perish.     But  yet  in  sense  far  higher 
than  all  such  guardianship  has  been  the  watch- 
ful tending  of  our  God  round  His  own  special 
cause  in  the  earth.     In  the  Church's  story, 
from  the  time  of  the  little  seed  up  now  to  the 
expanding  of  the  great  tree,  we  have  over 
and   over  instances,  lastingly  memorable,  of 
the  keepership  of  God.     How  the  fires  of  per- 
secution of  to-day,  for  example,  have  become 
the  zeal  and  vehemence  of  friends  to-morrow ! 
How  the  enemy  of  God,  putting  the  poor  mar- 
tyr to  his  cruel  death,  has  been  breathed  on 
by  the  parting  spirit,  and  himself  has  fallen  on 
the  knees  in  prayer!     How  the  cause,  sup- 
posed to  be  crushed  out  at  one   stake,  has 
dropped  its  mantle  with  such  power  increased 
that  an  hundred  stakes  more  must  burn,  and 
these  only  to  produce  their  farther  crop  of 
thousands !     Know  we  not  how  God  has  thus 
countlessly  made  the  curse  of  men  His  kmg- 
dom's  blessing-that  not  only  has  He  saved 
that  kingdom,  and  put  the  thick  bosses  of  His 


376  ISRAEL'S     KEEPER. 

buckler  round  it,  but  He  has  bent  the  ele- 
ments of  evil  that  arose  against  it  in  such  wise 
that  He  has  yoked  them  in  its  chariot  shafts — 
He  has  made  them  serve  its  better  triumph — • 
He  has  compelled  their  speech,  like  that  of 
Balaam,  to  speak  its  praise — through  their 
designed  ill,  He  has  brought  out  the  Church's 
enhanced  prosperity  and  good  ! 

And  what  the  Mighty  One  of  Israel  has 
been  doing  in  the  wide  circle  of  the  Church, 
He  has  been  repeating  not  less  tenderly  and 
powerfully  in  the  little  circle  of  each  redeemed 
soul.  Have  we  even  the  faintest  guess  how 
often,  in  the  pathway  of  our  lives,  the  enemy 
has  bent  the  bow  and  shot  the  arrow  against 
us,  and  it  has  been  warded  off  by  the  quick 
hand  of  our  Saviour  God  ?  Have  we  the 
faintest  thought  of  the  abysses  we  have  trem- 
bled over,  no  more  conscious  than  the  sleep- 
walker ;  the  ruin  that  has  gaped  to  snatch  us ; 
the  temptations  that  have  breathed  past  us 
like  a  scorching  whirlwind,  and  that  have 
destroyed  so  many  others  ;  and  this  our  God 
has  kept  us  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand  through 


Israel's  keeper.  377 

them  all  ?  Glimpses  indeed  we  have  had,  as 
in  cases  in  which  we  have  been  tossed  in  the 
storm  of  trial,  but  presently  the  Lord  Jesus, 
as  He  did  with  His  disciples,  has  arisen  and 
rebuked  the  elements  to  peace,  and  it  has 
flashed  upon  us,  ''What  manner  of  man  is 
this" — our  Keeper  and  our  Lord — "that  even 
the  wind  and  the  sea  obey  Him  !*'  And  again 
we  catch  note  of  how  He  makes  the  vastness 
and  the  strength  of  all  things  bow  to  bless 
His  people ;  these  very  things  that  would 
have  frowned  upon  them  and  destroyed  them 
else ;  when,  looking  back  over  a  stretch  of 
life,  we  see  how  the  crooked  places  have  been 
made  straight  for  us,  and  the  rough  places 
plain — the  wilderness  pools  of  water,  and  the 
dry  land  springs  of  water.  Who  has  not  pas- 
sages along  his  way  like  this  to  acknowledge 
— the  evil  changed  into  the  good,  the  cursing 
compelled,  like  Balaam's  tongue,  to  yield  the 
blessing  ?  And  who,  then,  cannot  rise  to  tlie 
inference,  somewhat,  that,  if  need  be,  our 
Saviour-God  will  make  the  strong  universe 
and  all  its  laws,  and  all  its  stupendous  move- 


378  Israel's  keeper. 

merit  stoop  around  us,  even  us  in  our  little- 
ness and  weakness ;  for  He  Who  holds  us 
sleeplessly  in  the  hollow  of  His  '  hand  is  the 
same  God  Who  weighs  the  mountains  in 
scales  and  the  hills  in  a  balance ;  Who  holds 
also  the  depths  of  the  sea  in  the  hollow  of 
His  hand,  and  taketh  up  the  isles  as  a  very 
little  thing !  I  say,  any  one  who  looks  back 
thoughtfully  over  any  back  page  of  his  life 
may  gain  hints  of  these  things.  But  oh! 
never,  never  can  he  know  in  full  extent  what 
the  guardianship  of  the  blessed  God  round 
him  has  implied  first  and  last ;  how  won- 
drously  He  has  taken  the  mouth  of  hate  and 
evil  and  put  into  it,  for  our  sake,  the  silver 
tongue  of  blessing ;  how  He  has  extracted 
that  thing  that  has  been  best  and  happiest  for 
us  from  what  we  have  most  feared  ;  how  our 
feeble  prayers  have  been  wafted  up,  and  have 
not  only  flxllen  on  the  ear  but  moved  into 
strength  and  triumph  the  arm  of  His  omnip- 
otence ;  how  the  spot  where  we  have  dwelt 
on  earth  has  been  the  spot  of  His  delight — 
the  axis  of  the  whole  world  of  His  love  and 


ISRAEL'S    KEEPER.  379 

care — about  which  they  have  revolved  and 
shed  themselves,  and  made  the  darkness  light 
around  us,  and  infirmity  in  Christ  a  glory,  and 
suffering  a  benediction,  and  the  ills  we  bear  a 
prophecy  of  coming  victory,  and  death  itself 
the  vestibule  to  life !  We  never  can  know 
these  things  in  fall,  till,  with  the  purged  sight 
of  another  state,  we  see  back  the  whole  path- 
way we  have  come.  And  yet  surely  there 
are  intimations  enough  now  to  enlarge  our 
hearts  and  make  our  steps  buoyant.  We  are 
travelling  forward  overflung  by  the  network 
of  the  guardianship  of  our  God.  Who  can 
hurt  us  or  destroy  us  ?  What  can  flesh  do 
unto  us  ?  Nay,  do  we  not  rise  a  note  higher, 
and  claim  the  whole  universe  of  God  as 
tributary  to  us — everything  made  to  run  into 
the  current  of  our  blessing,  and  to  be  a  por- 
tion of  our  spiritual  greatness  before  God ; 
for,  as  the  poorest  lips  that  call  on  the  name 
of  Christ  can  say,  "  All  things  are  ours, 
whether  Paul,  or  Apollos,  or  Cephas,  or  the 
world,  or  life,  or  death,  or  things  present,  or 
things  to  come — all  are  ours ;  and  we  are 
Christ's;  and  Christ  is  God's!" 


XXIX. 

§atU  ut  to  ilut^boW. 

Along  the  plains  of  Moab,  a  green  and 
shady  belt  lying  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the 
Jordan,  between  the  table-lands  of  Abarim 
and  the  river,  the  tribes  of  Israel  were  now 
encamped.  This  was  their  last  stage ;  the 
desert  pilgrimage  was  at  its  close;  and  as 
they  were  sheltered  for  the  time  under  the 
acacia-groves  that  grew  thick  over  the  Moab- 
ite  valley,  the  Promised  Land  lay  there,  across 
the  deep  cleft  of  waters,  full  in  view.  It  was 
here — at  the  threshold  of  their  great  triumph, 
their  forty  years'  prize  so  long  and  wearily 
travailed  for,  about  to  be  won  at  last — it  was 
here  Moses,  under  God  their  leader  and  law- 
giver, was  summoned  to  die. 

Every  precaution  had  been  taken  by  him, 
as  he  knew  the  inevitable  hour  drew  on.  A 
portion  of  the  tribes  had  been  settled  in  the 

8S0 


DEATH    AT   THE    THRESHOLD.  381 

rich  lands  conquered  to  the  eastward  of  the 
Jordan  ;  the  Moabites  and  others  had  been 
scattered  to  make  unimpeded  room  for  the 
final  march  beyond  the  river;  Joshua  had 
had  solemnly  transferred  to  him  the  leader- 
ship of  Israel ;  in  a  long  and  affecting  ad- 
dress, Moses  had  reviewed  the  whole  history 
of  the  people's  wanderings,  reiterated  to  them 
the  commandments  of  their  covenant  God, 
chanted  with  them  another  song  such  as  their 
fathers  had  sung  in  full  melody  by  the  waters 
of  the  Red  Sea,  and  finally  pronounced  on 
each  tribe  his  dying  benediction.  All  was 
done  ;  the  mournful  farewell  was  said ;  the 
faults  and  follies  and  harassings  of  the  past — 
the  venerable  man  of  God  forgot  them  all 
now,  as,  going  on  through  the  tented  lines 
and  under  the  thorny  clumps,  he  must  have 
been  followed  by  weeping  hundreds ;  and 
again  he  must  have  stopped  to  say  some 
soothing  word  ;  and  again  he  must  have 
pushed  on  with  a  steadfast,  though  breaking 
heart.  Now  he  addresses  himself  to  the 
mountain  steep  ;  there  is  a  line  where  the  last 


382  DEATH    AT   THE    THRESHOLD. 

Israelite  must  pause  ;  arid  the  hand  of  Moses 
waves  its  parting  to  the  camp ;  and  his  form, 
visible  for  a  minute  as  it  turns  to  face  the  hill, 
plunges  into  the  hill-side  thickets,  and  thence 
forward  to  the  Pisgah  summit  his  pathway  is 
alone. 

Silence  lay  along  that  lonely  way ;  silence 
was  in  the  deep  blue  air ;  silence  on  the  pro- 
phet's lips,  and  in  his  heart.  His  great  office 
had  been  laid  down — the  burden  of  the  whole 
people  was  off  his  heart ;  and  it  now  remained 
for  him  only  to  see  the  land  he  was  not  to 
tread ;  and  then,  so  strangely  lightened,  and 
alone,  and  in  the  deep  mountain  silence,  to 
die.  Presently  therefore  he  reached  the  Nebo 
edge.  We  know  not  if  the  encampment  he 
had  left  was  underneath  his  eye  ;  rather 
would  we  think  of  it  as  hidden  by  some 
sweeping  of  the  hill,  and  that,  nothing  living 
near  him  save  the  shadow  of  God,  Moses 
stood  in  his  death-hour  looking  down  on  the 
wide  world  literally  alone.  No  doubt,  the 
past  way  of  the  wilderness  and  the  flood  was 
wonderingly  run  over,  and  every  stage,  like  a 


DEATH    AT    THE    THRESHOLD.  383 

compressed,  yet  intensely  vivified  chapter  of 
God's  mercy  and  truth,  seen  to  start  out  with 
light.  So  in  dreams  ;  so  in  dying  moments, 
when  the  brain  is  singularly  lit,  the  entire  life 
is  said  to  come  back,  flashing  itself  and  all  its 
meaning  into  the  lapse  of  a  minute ;  so  before 
the  eyes  of  Moses  on  his  Pisgah  rock  may 
have  gleamed  the  desert  pathway  of  forty 
years.  But  the  view  lay  mainly  forward. 
To  the  north,  the  good  land  stretched  before 
his  eager  gaze  in  its  fields  and  slopes  till  it 
melted  in  the  dim  slopes  of  utmost  Lebanon ; 
across,  right  before  him,  rolled  the  green 
undulations  of  Judah,  till,  afar  off,  they,  too, 
dropped  into  the  haze  that  marked  the  line 
of  the  great  sea ;  and  southward,  spread  the 
same  rich  swell,  meeting,  as  its  boundary  in 
that  direction,  the  yellow  cloud-border  of  the 
outer  wilderness.  Immediately  over  against 
him,  crowning  its  palm-tree  summit,  were  the 
towers  of  Jericho ;  while  the  eye,  pursuing 
the  deep  valley  of  the  Jordan,  lost  itself  in 
the  sicklied  mists  hanging  over  the  accursed 
basin  of  the  Dead  Sea.     Such  was  the  fair- 


384  DEATH    AT    THE    THRESHOLD. 

framed  picture  set  by  God  Himself  under  the 
vision  of  Moses.  Did  it  awaken  any  pang  of 
sorrow  that  his  feet  might  not  touch  the  holy 
soil  ?  that,  after  all  that  had  come  and  gone 
in  the  deliverance  of  Israel,  his  hand  might 
not  guide  this  last  and  greatest  conquest? 
Did  the  still  strong  frame  of  the  aged  man 
bow  itself  upon  the  rock,  and  the  clear  eyes 
suffuse  with  tears,  as  he  felt  it  a  bitter  thing 
thus  to  die  at  the  threshold  ?  There  was  no 
hint  of  any  such  emotion  ;  if  any  such  crossed 
him  for  a  moment,  it  passed  from  that  noble 
brow  as  the  fleck  of  shadow  in  the  broad  sun- 
shine. And,  as  we  judge,  even  while  he 
looked,  the  earthly  faded — the  mystery  of  the 
heavenly  was  near — the  silver-white  head 
leaned  on  the  rock  in  a  sudden  sigh — and  the 
next  moment  the  spot  where  he  stood  was 
vacant — only  his  footprint  on  the  grass  re- 
mained— the  great  servant  of  the  Lord  was 
not,  for  the  Lord  took  him !  There  was  a 
passing  clash  of  armor  in  the  air,  for  the 
devil  disputed  with  Michael  the  archangel  for 
the  dead  body's  spoil ;  but  the  Lord  Himself 


DEATH    AT    THE    THRESHOLD.  385 

bore  the  sacred  burden  into  the  solitudes  of 
Beth-peor,  and  buried  it  there  where  no  man 
knew ! 

There  is  something  confessedly  most  pa- 
thetic in  this  death  at  the  threshold.  We 
ivould^  somehow,  that  Moses  had  lived  to  see 
his  life-work  done,  and  the  success  for  which 
he  pioneered  the  way  so  gloriously  and  pain- 
fully, not  only  within  his  grasp,  but  actually 
grasped.  Does  it  not  seem  a  most  hapless 
fate  that,  at  the  last  crowning  step,  he  should 
have  fallen — in  the  very  doorway  of  the  long- 
dreamt-of  Canaan,  he  should  have  died  ? 
And  we  carry  the  same  sort  of  feeling  into 
our  thought  of  deaths  and  losses  in  the  king- 
dom of  God  now.  How  many  who  have  led 
the  battle  bravely  through  the  heat  and  bur- 
den of  the  day,  and  have  been  struck  down 
just  in  the  hour  of  victory  !  How  many  have 
toiled,  utterly  negligent  of  self,  for  years  and 
years  in  some  great  project,  and  when  all  the 
storms  are  over  and  the  haven  just  in  sight, 
they  have  fallen,  vf  orn   out,   at  their  posts ! 

How  many  in  their  first  manhood  have  had 

17 


386  DEATH    AT    THE    THRESHOLD. 

years  opening  before  them  flushed  with  prom- 
ise, and  ere  they  have  well  stepped  into  the 
field  and  cropped  the  first  harvest,  they  have 
been  struck  down — literally,  they  have  died 
on  the  threshold !  We  might  quote  a  hun- 
dred such  baffled,  broken  lives  besides. 
Nothing  the  world  mourns  over  more — 
nothing,  when  the  blow  falls,  seems  to  us 
more  irreparable.  Are  they  really  baffled 
and  broken  lives  ?  Are  they  really,  what  we 
at  first  thought  count  them,  sad  and  mysteri- 
ous failures— creations  bright  and  noble  in 
their  beginning,  disappointments,  darknesses, 
miseries  in  the  end  ? 

If  we  look  for  a  moment  thoughtfully  at 
the  matter,  my  reader,  we  cannot  at  all  think 
so,  but  the  reverse-  For  God  would  teach 
us,  that  there  is  no  work  or  cause  in  the 
world  for  good  to  be  considered  as  the  pecu- 
liar possession  of  any  man ;  that  the  whole 
work  and  the  whole  cause  are  His  own ;  that, 
therefore,  no  one,  not  even  the  rarest  of  His 
saints,  is  indispensable  to  Him.  He  sends 
him  into  the  world  but  as  an  instrument  to  do 


DEATH    AT   THE    THRESHOLD.  387 

an  appointed  part — a  link  in  the  chain,  a 
torch  in  the  line  of  light.  So,  while  we  look 
at  the  sphere  some  one  life  is  fitted,  as  we 
think,  splendidly  to  fill  up,  God  looks  beyond 
that  small  and  arbitrary  circle  at  the  vast 
sweep  of  His  advancing  kingdom,  and,  accord- 
ing to  the  exigencies  and  the  calls  of  that. 
He  puts  down  one  man  and  raises  up  another; 
He  leads  a  Peter  to  an  early  crucifixion  in 
the  footsteps  of  his  Lord ;  He  protracts  the 
ministry  of  a  John  till,  through  the  feebleness 
of  utmost  age,  he  drops  into  his  grave ;  He 
will  let  one  labor,  and  also  enter  into  the  fruit 
of  his  labor ;  He  will  let  another  labor,  but 
just  as  he  is  entering  in,  bid  him,  as  He  bade 
Moses,  die.  Wherefore,  looking  at  our  human 
lives  in  the  light  of  that  high  sovereignty  of 
God,  even  that  which  seems  to  us  on  this 
earthly  side  most  baffled  and  fragmentary  we 
dare  not  for  a  moment  call  incomplete.  At 
whatever  point  it  has  been  arrested,  if  it  has 
performed  the  part  God  assigned  it  in  the 
vastness  of  His  scheme,  it  is  a  life  rounded 
and  done. 


388  DEATH    AT    THE    TPIRESHOLD. 

Moreover,  when  it  pleases  God  to  cut  short 
a  gifted  human  life,  smiting  it  with  death  at 
the  threshold,  it  may  in  this  mystery  of  His 
dealing  be  better  so  ;  and,  therefore,  the 
existence  attain  a  completeness  higher  and  of 
a  more  glorious  kind  than  if,  in  its  earthly 
framework,  it  had  gone  on  to  live.  For  it 
receives  tenfold  power  in  its  death ;  it 
awakens  men's  sorrow ;  it  calls  their  deepest 
thoughts  into  play  ;  it  realizes  to  them  as  it 
passes  away  all  its  nobleness  and  influence, 
and  the  grandeur  of  the  cause  in  which  it 
fell ;  if  there  is  no  one  man  to  snatch  at  the 
whole  legacy  it  leaves,  there  are  a  hundred 
stirred  up  to  snatch  at  least  each  his  part ; 
and  so,  just  as  the  clustering  ear  of  corn  when 
cut.  down  shakes  its  seeds  abroad,  and  these 
spring  up,  in  some  thirty,  in  some  sixty,  in 
some  an  hundred  fold,  a  rich  life,  cut  down 
and  shaken  by  the  hand  of  God,  strews  a 
power  behind  it,  for  which  even  what  we  call 
its  premature  death  is  not  too  great  a  price  to 
pay.  Such  was  the  completeness  of  Moses' 
life  at  the  very  moment,  in  his  death  on  the 


DEATH   AT   THE    THRESHOLD.  389 

Canaan  border,  all  men  would  have  thought 
otherwise.  He  died  that  the  heart  of  Israel 
might  be  moved  to  thoughts  his  death  alone 
could  strike ;  that,  as  he  let  the  staff  of  God 
fall,  hundreds  might  arise  to  catch  it  up ; 
that,  instead  of  their  entering  Canaan  mechan- 
ically dependent,,  as  heretofore,  on  his  high 
guidance  and  his  sure  prevalency  with  God, 
the  vanishing  away  of  his  figure  from  the 
host — -the  startling  blank  left — and  yet  the 
path  of  conquest  there  before  them,  where  he 
had  pointed  with  his  dying  finger — by  fhese 
they  might  be  appealed  to  resistlessly ;  they 
might  feel  his  spirit  pass  into  them;  they 
might  rise  into  new  and  heroic  being;  they 
might  move  forward  as  one  man  to  crown  his 
work  in  such  triumphant  sort  as  even  he,  if 
left  alive,  could  not  have  done.  Life  dying 
at  the  threshold,  therefore,  changes  thus,  and 
on  that  very  account,  into  life  the  most  glori- 
ously fulfilled. 

Let  us,  then,  my  reader,  humble  ourselves 
under  the  mighty  hand  of  God.  From  our 
human  side  let  us  strive  to  realise  His  broad 


390  DEATH    AT    THE    THRESHOLD. 

divine  view  of  what  oiir  lot  is  on  the  earth. 
Let  us  count  no  work  or  sphere  ours,  in  that 
sense  that  we  shall  ever  dream  it  must  de- 
pend on  the  strength  of  our  arm  or  the  sus- 
taining of  our  life  and  heart.  Thankfully  in- 
deed do  we  gather  up  the  tokens  that  our 
labor  in  the  good  cause  of  our  God  is  not  in 
vain  in  the  Lord— that  the  seed  we  sow  is 
springing  to  the  harvest — that  the  enterprise 
we  have  engaged  in  and  yielded  all  our  heart 
to  is  developing  through  all  trials  and  battles 
into  high  success.  And  thankful  and  blessed 
also  should  we  deem  ourselves  if,  in  God's 
good  will,  we  should  be  allowed  to  finish  here 
on  earth  what  we  have  begun — to  bring  home 
the  sheaves  rejoicing,  whose  seed  we  went 
forth  to  sow  with  tears.  A  cruel  stroke  should 
we  feel  it  if,  at  the  threshold  of  such  fruits, 
death  should  cut  us  down.  Yet  never  let  us 
fail  to  reiterate  to  ourselves,  that  what  we  do 
in  ^ God's  cause  on  earth  is  His  privilege 
granted  us,  and  that  alone  ;  that  our  portion 
of  His  cause  assigned  us  is  not  ours,  but  His ; 
that  whether  we  shall  do  it  bnt  for  one  hour 


DEATH    AT    THE    THRESHOLD.  391 

and  then  have  our  strength  broken,  or  do  it 
fifty  years,  either  time  is  our  complete  mea- 
sure, and    God  then   but  resumes  His  own. 
We   shall  thus   learn  to  lean,  in   life — even 
when  it  has  been  an  arduous  and  well-fought 
course — very  sparingly  upon  ourselves,   and 
to  lean,  with  great  confidence  on  God.     We 
shall  feel  that,  though  we  or  any  man  die, 
God's  work  in  His  own  hand  will  perish  never. 
And  as  to  the  sharp  trial  to  the  natural  feel- 
ing th^death  is  in  the  midway  of  our  work — 
death  in  sight  of  that  work's  last  conquest — we 
shall  take  home  that,  if  our  life  has  been  hum- 
ble, true,  single,  worthy  in  God,   even  while 
it  dies  it  will  an  hundred  times  over  bless — it 
will  leave  seeds  in  other  hearts,  out  of  which 
our  work  shall  be  finished  with  a  double  vic- 
tory.    And  as  for  us,  caught  away,  like  Mo- 
ses, in  the  sight  of  our  earthly  reward — the 
good  land  before  us,  but  our  feet  never  to  be 
on  its  soil — it  will  only  be,  like  Moses  also,  to 
find  our  reward  full  in  heaven.     There  the 
shaft,  looking  on  the  earth  broke  across,  is 
built  up  a  noble  pillar  in  the  temple  of  our 


392  DEATH   AT   THE    THRESHOLD. 

God.     There  the  hand,  that   all   but  closed 
upon  its  prize  on  earth  yet  just  fell  short,  puts 
on  the  golden  crown  and  holds  the  palm  of 
victory.       There   the   ardent   spirit,  fainting 
and  dying  at  the  threshold  on  earth,  is  seated 
on  the  throne  of  him  that  has  overcome,  and 
has  right  to  the  tree  of  life.     All  the  broken- 
ness  and  incompleteness  here  is  amended  into 
everlasting  fulness  there.     Each  fragment  life 
we  mourned  over  here  is  "  orbed  into  its  per- 
fect star"  there.     And  as  we  look  up  thither, 
with  such  certainties  as  these,  oh  surely  we 
shall   never  falter  in   our    pilgrim  way — we 
shall  not  fear,  even  with  the  whole  fruit  of  our 
doings   ungathered,    any   moment   God  may 
please,  to  die — we  shall  rather  all  the  more 
earnestly  while  we  live  press  on  in  the  cur- 
rent of  God's  kingdom,  with  the  fervent  mind 
of  Jesus  saying,   "  I  must  work  the  works  of 
Him  that   sent  me  while  it  is  day;  for  the 
night  Cometh  when  no  man  can  work!" 


XXX. 

In  the  pleasant  plain  by  the  edge  of  the 
Jordan,  the  pilgrims  were  encamped,  now  at 
their  journey's  end,  as  on  ground  we  might 
call  their  Beulah.     It  was  not  only  that  it  was 
a  space  lovely  in  itself,  but  it  caught  all  the 
light  of  hope  and  promise  from  the  near  land 
of  their  rest  little  more  than   a  step  across. 
Only  the  flooded  bed  of  the  river  rolled  its 
brown  waters  deep  and  turbulent  between ; 
but  as  the  long  company  of   the   Israelites 
watched  from  their  tent-doors,   or  went  up 
and  down  by  the  sedgy  banks,  looking  at  the 
harvest-flood  in  its  fury,  or  their  eyes  travel- 
ling up  the  opposite  steep  to  the  battlements 
of  Jericho  half  hid  among  the  palm-trees,  not 
one  but  must  have  felt  assured  that  this  last 
span  of  difficulty  also  God  would  in  some  way 
bridge  across.     Had  the  Red  Sea  at  the  out- 


394  FORDING    THE    DARK    WATERS. 

set  of  the  great  pilgrimage  not  parted  for 
their  fathers,  and  would  this  chasm  of  the 
Jordan  at  the  great  pilgrimage's  close  not 
make  a  passage-way  for  them?  Yet,  while 
from  their  Beulah  spot  there  was  so  much  in 
the  immediate  prospect  to  fling  over  them  the 
flush  of  exultation,  there  was  a  great  deal, 
too,  might  have  crossed  them  (and  in  the 
more  reflective  hearts  I  have  no  doubt  did 
cross  them)  from  the  thought  of  the  past,  to 
sober  them  and  sadden  them  down.  What  a 
memorable  pathway  was  theirs,  now  of  forty 
years,  through  the  wilderness  !  What  an 
utter  blank  all  the  region  had  been  before ! 
how  thick  now  with  the  monuments  of  their 
wanderings,  follies,  infirmities,  sins,  and  shame, 
and  of  God's  ^^^.tience,  love,  miracles,  revela- 
tions, mercy !  What  hallowed  ground,  as  the 
eye  ran  back  and  lighted  on  the  long  chain 
of  heavenly  footprints  indelible  among  the 
rocks  and  sand  for  ever!  With  all  their 
weariness  and  perverseness  by  the  way — their 
cry  one  day  to  flee  back  to  Egypt — their  cry 
next  to  press  on  and  be  at  their  journey's 


FORDING    THE    DARK    WATERS.  39D 

close — was  there  not  now  a  strange  lingering 
about  the  heart  as  though  they  would  fliin 
almost  retrace  these  desert  scenes  ?  With  all 
this  chequering  of  light  and  gloom,  peril  and 
deliverance,  life  and  death,  was  there  not  a 
deep  sorrow  now  in  feeling  that  this  great 
page  in  their  history  was  done,  and  the  leaf 
about  to  be  turned  for  ever  ?  I  believe  some, 
at  least,  of  the  Israelites  must  have  meditated 
thus  on  the  past,  must  have  realized  to  them- 
selves what  the  Desert  Pathway  had  made 
them  and  theirs — not  only  what  an  impress  it 
would  leave  on  Israelite  life  and  history  to  all 
time,  but  what  a  stamp  of  heaven  it  had  left 
on  them,  the  actual  pilgrims.  Where  else 
would  they  have  acquired  that  moulding,  that 
light,  that  regenerated  being,  which,  in  meas- 
ure more  or  less,  was  theirs — sealed  on  them 
by  the  hand  of  God  ?  Would  they  have  ever 
caught  it  in  the  dark  slavery  of  Goshen? 
Would  they  have  taken  it  on,  though  they 
had  been  princes  and  not  slaves,  in  the  lux- 
urious valley  of  the  Nile  ?  Was  it  not  alone 
through  the  far-shrouded  avenue  of  the  desert- 


396      FORDING  THE  DARK  WATERS. 

way  Israelite  life  could  have  had  the  birth 
that  had  passed  upon  it  into  the  likeness  and 
the  will  of  God? 

So  that  with  all  the  solemn  shadows  mem- 
ory summoned  up  there  by  the  waters  of  the 
Jordan,  they  became,  after  all,  in  the  peni- 
tent and  pious  heart,  but  a  tempering  of  the 
now  glorious  Beulah  light — but  a  making 
more  mellow  this  quiet  and  beauteous  evening 
that  closed  in  the  fitful  and  stormy  pilgrimage- 
day.  And  as  it  had  been  anticipated,  so  God 
was  with  His  people  to  the  last.  Jericho  had 
been  spied  out,  and  it  was  discovered  how 
the  heart  of  the  Canaanites  had  melted  in 
them  through  fear ;  the  last  wonder  of  the 
arm  of  God  therefore  struck  that  terror  home. 
He  bade  Joshua  marshal  the  tribes  upon  the 
river  bank ;  He  directed  how  the  priests, 
bearing  the  holy  ark,  were  to  go  several 
paces  in  advance ;  and,  soon  as  the  serried 
march  began — the  Israelite  eyes  intent  from 
this  side,  the  heathen  eyes  intent  and  cower- 
ing from  the  other  side — there  was  the  hush  of 
God's  own  leading  felt,     pown  to  the  dark 


FORDING    THE    DARK    WATERS.  397 

and  rusliing  ford  He  brought  His  priestly 
band  straight ;  and  the  instant  their  gleaming 
feet  touched  the  wave,  it  was  cleft  across 
from  bank  to  bank.  On  the  right,  the  roar- 
ing flood  gathered  back  upon  itself,  pent  up 
as  if  an  iron  breast-work  held  it  in  its  wild 
wrath  helpless;  on  the  left,  the  current  failed 
away,  the  channelled  bed  lay  bare,  and  the 
priests  planting  themselves  the  while  with 
their  sacred  burden  in  mid-stream,  the  deep 
masses  of  the  Israelites  passed  across  steady 
as  on  dry  land.  They  climbed  the  other 
bank,  file  by  file,  thousand  by  thousand. 
They  were  on  the  soil  of  God's  promise  at 
last.  They  were  in  their  Canaan  home,  mak- 
ing black  its  threshold  with  their  numbers, 
and  as  the  last  man  was  helped  up  the  edge, 
and  the  priests  then  raised  the  ark,  and  in 
slow  and  measured  step  emerged  also  from 
the  river's  depth,  it  was  surely  startling  to 
the  heart  of  Israel  to  see  the  champing  flood 
burst  its  barrier,  to  watch  it  sweeping  all  its 
banks  to  the  very  brim  again,  and  to  reflect 
that,    by    the   line    novf   of    these    loosened 


398      FORDIXG  THE  DARK  WATERS. 

waters,  they,  on  the  spot  where  their  feet 
were  set,  were  cut  off  from  the  desert  and  its 
pilgrimage  for  ever ! 

To  the  pilgrim  still,  as  he  hastens  through 
his  last  stage  home,  it  is  a  marvellous  hour  that 
Beulah  hour,  just  ere  the  sweep  of  death  is 
crossed.     With  some  there  has  been  a  light 
from  the  near  land  so  bright,  that  it  has  made 
the  deathbed  all  aglow  with  heaven ;  streams 
of  rapturous  gladness  have  broken  from  the 
lips  ;    sentences   of    chastened   yet   burning 
anticipation  have  flowed  from  the  pen.     Yea, 
to  that  extent  has  such  experience  gone,  that 
it  has  been  related  of  one,  dying  under  the 
kindled    glories   he    beheld    rising    on    him 
beyond    death,   that  his   ecstasy  mounted  to 
such  a  pitch  his  attendants  had  to  beseech  him 
to  be  hushed,  otherwise  he  should  not  have 
power  to  die !     But  for  the   most  part,  w^ith 
those  especially  who  have  come  out  of  the  sor- 
rows and  the  blessings  of  the  Desert  Pathway, 
it  is  a  tempered  though  beauteous  light,  a  quiet 
sunset  calm.    In  that  solemn  hour,  if  God  pre- 
serves  to  us  our   faculties,  and  we  are  not 


FORDING  THE  DARK  WATERS.      399 

stretched  on  the  rack  of  pain,  what  a  halo  of 
mingled  memory  the  one  way  and  hope  and 
looking  forward  the  other  gathers  round  us ! 
We  look  back   on   the  earthly  way  about  to 
close.     We  thank  God  now  for  all  its  hard- 
ships and  distresses,  as  we  counted  them  at 
the  time !     We  rejoice  our  way  was  not  in  the 
stages  of  plenty,  and  of  great  temporal  ease, 
and  success,  and,  as  the  world  reckons  it,  hap- 
piness.    We  see  how  these  would  have  re- 
laxed most  dangerously  the  up-springing  of 
our  soul  to  God  ;  and  how,  in  the  last  hour, 
such  fetters  would  they  have  cast  around  us, 
that  it  w^ould  have  been  a  hard  and  a  fearful 
thing  to  die.     In  our  spiritual  feebleness,  we 
should  then  have  been  in  the  case  of  those 
whom  the  prophet  addresses  when  he  so  start- 
lingly  asks  them — "If  thou  hast  run  with  the 
footmen,   and  they  have  wearied  thee,  then 
how  canst  thou  contend  with  horses?     And 
if  in  the  land  of  peace,  wherein  thou  trustedst, 
they  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  do  in 
the  swelling  of  Jordan  ?"      Yes,  verily,  with 
the  spiritual  nature  that  through  the  unnerv- 


400  FORDING    THE    DARK    WATERS. 

ing  of  earthly  prosperity  could  so  ill  bear  a 
strain  in  life,  how  could  we  have  borne  to  face 
the  fording  of  the  dark  waters  in  death  ?  But 
in  that  soft  twilight  hour  I  have  called  our 
Beulah,  just  on  the  hither  side  Jordan  ere  we 
die,  we  bless  God  that  it  has  been  the  contrary 
case  with  us ;  that  although  we  rebelled,  and 
repined,  and  often  made  our  hearts  hard  un- 
der it.  He  yet  led  us  persistently  in  "  the  right 
way  ;"  that  He  gave  us  the  cross  of  feeble 
health  to  bear;  that  He  scattered  our  fair 
hopes  at  a  breath  ;  that  He  wounded  us  to  the 
quick  with  anxiety,  with  bereavement,  with 
sorrow  ;  that  He  made  us  often  and  again  ask 
the  question,  "  Wherefore  dost  Thou  afflict 
me  thus  ?"  We  bless  His  name,  that  all  the 
while  He  was  weaning  us  in  heart  and  soul  to 
Himself ;  that  He  was  raising  us  and  con- 
straining us  on  to  the  level  of  His  blessed 
world  above  ;  that  He  was  giving  token  on 
token  of  our  being  the  chosen  people  of  His 
love — according  to  that  wondrous  yet  most 
holy  principle,  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  He 
chasteneth,   and  scourgeth  every  son  whom 


FORDING   THE    DARK   WATERS.  401 

He  receiveth;"  and  that  by  that  vicissitude 
and  sharpness  and  wandering  to  and  fro  in 
the  desert  path  all  these  years — now  in  a 
break  of  sunshine,  now  in  the  folds  of  gloom, 
now  under  quiet  shade  and  rest,  now  in  the 
brunt  of  heat  and  storm—He  was  preparing 
us  for  this  unutterable  sweetness  at  the  close, 
this  Beulah  eventide,  and  yonder,  just  across 
the  fords  of  death,  the  good  land  and  the  glo- 
rious day.  In  such  retrospect,  my  reader, 
what  life,  the  barrenest  wilderness  as  it  may 
have  seemed  in  passing  through,  but  becomes 
strewn  with  the  selected  goings  to  and  fro  of 
the  blessed  God  !  We  read  of  the  poor  pris- 
oner who  inherited  a  solitary  cell  for  long 
years ;  in  that  time  he  had  watched  a  little 
creeper  plant  growing  with  its  soft  tendrils  in 
one  of  the  crevices  of  the  bleak  stone  walls 
outside  his  window  ;  he  had  watched  it  till  he 
knew  every  fringe  and  fibre,  and  the  sweet 
growth  he  would  have  crushed  in  a  common 
path  outside*  in  this  desert  corner  grew  lite- 
rally into  his  heart ;  so  that  when  at  last  he 
was  released,  he  found  there  was  a  pathos 


402  FORDING   THE    DARK   WATERS. 

about  the  bare  cell  and  the  mute  climbing- 
plant  that  had  consecrated  many  hours,  and 
that,  even  with  freedom  and  his  home  in  view, 
made  it  hard  for  him  to  tear  himself  away. 
So  in  the  desert  way  we  have  come  ;  so  illu- 
minated does  it  shew  at  the  hour  of  parting, 
all  its  nooks  and  spots  and  windings  revealing 
some  tie  of  tenderness  and  blessing  such  as  in 
no  other  path  but  in  the  grief  and  loneliness 
and  barrenness  of  this  could  have  wound 
themselves  about  us,  that,  even  with  heaven 
and  all  its  rest  in  view,  we  cannot  quite  break 
away  from  it.  We  feel  as  if  we  should  like  to 
traverse  it  again.  We  bless  God  He  led  us 
as  He  did.  We  behold  it  all  a  path  of  bless- 
ing. We  find  what  at  the  end  it  has  made  us ; 
that  if  we  have  "  come  out  of  great  tribula- 
tion," we  have  also  "washed  our  robes,  and 
made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb !" 
Then,  turning  round  on  such  a  death-pil- 
low, what  to  us  is  death  ?  It  is  a  dark  and 
cold  river  indeed,  across  the  rushing  straits  of 
which  we  could  never  of  ourselves  hold  our 
way;  but  the  covenant  God,  Who  has  led  us 


FORDING    THE    DARK    WATERS.  403 

in  the  way  we  knew  not  already,  will  be  with 
us  still.  "Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no 
evil ;  for  Thou  art  with  me  :  Thy  rod  and  Thy 
staff  they  comfort  me."  As  we  edge  on  to 
the  death-flow — slacken  all  earthly  holds — feel 
the  light  and  the  love  of  earth  fade — we  see 
— we  must  see — with  the  open  inward  eye. 
One  Who  is  our  great  High  Priest  from 
heaven — on  the  dark  background  His  figure 
white  as  light — making  the  heart  of  all  our 
enemies  melt  around  us  and  before  us  for  fear 
— scattering  our  sins  in  their  multitude  for 
ever — scattering  the  tempter  and  his  myrmi- 
dons that  hang  gnashingly  around  us — and 
our  last  enemy,  even  death,  utterly  destroy- 
ing that ;  for  as  His  pierced  feet  touch  the 
waters,  they  are  rent  in  twain — as  He  stands, 
the  ark  of  His  own  Cross  planted  in  the  deep 
middle  ford,  they  roar  in  the  restraint  over- 
head, but  they  cannot  oversweep  us  ;  we  pass 
dryshod  where  we  thought  there  w^as  the  fear- 
fulest  of  all  depths  ;  we  climb  on  the  other 
shore  into  the  ten  thousand  arms  of  love  wait- 


404  FORDING    THE    DARK    WATERS. 

ing  US.  And  as  the  blessed  Lord  Himself  then 
releases  death  in  its  foam  and  surge  behind 
us,  we  are  struck — oh,  so  unutterably  ! — with 
the  everlasting  change ;  the  light  affliction 
there  behind  us,  the  exceeding  glory  here  ; 
the  Desert  Pathway  cut  off  there,  the  hills 
and  vales  of  Canaan  here  ;  the  pillow  of  pain 
and  of  helplessness  we  died  on  there,  the  em- 
brace of  our  God  and  Saviour  w^e  are  clasped 
in  here !  What  is  death,  if  through  death  we 
make  such  a  change  as  that— if,  after  fording 
the  dark  waters,  w^e  are  home  with  God,  and, 
looking  up  to  Him,  can  say : — 

"  For  ever  on  the  Incarnate  breast, 
That  fount  of  sweetness,  let  me  rest ! 
My  spirit  every  hour  imbued 
More  deeply  with  His  precious  blood  I" 


THE   END. 


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